Wednesday, November 23, 2011

History Lesson

I really wish there was a funicular (uphill/downhill tram) in Grasse.

In fact, before World War II, there was one. For a little while afterward, as well, but then cars came along and people modeled towns around them, and since the recent trend toward public transportation hasn't sunk in yet... But, back in WWII, the Nazis stormed Grasse and destroyed the funicular. My question: Why?

I mean, never mind that anyone occupying Grasse (be they hostiles or recently turned 23) would benefit from a way straight up the hill. No, no -- why would the Nazis bother with Grasse in the first place? If they wasted their time and forces trying to occupy this town, then it's no wonder they lost. I mean, it's cute and all, but if you're going to be a highly organized, thoroughly terrifying regime occupying a small, innocent town, wouldn't you at least pick one closer to the water and less hazy? All I'm saying is that I can't think of that many wars that have been won by cutting off the enemy's perfume supply.

But that got me wondering... Why did French people bother with Grasse? In the first place, I mean. It's not particularly strategic, the slope precludes fertile farmland, and my sources tell me the perfume industry didn't start up 'til the middle ages. Grasse predates the Roman Empire. Why?

The answer is water.

As I've mentioned on numerous occasions, Grasse is a distance from the sea, so this explanation doesn't make much sense. But I've also mentioned on numerous occasions that Grasse is where you start to get into the mountains. Higher up in these mountains are springs that trickle underground through the mountain, but rarely pop up anywhere. It pops up in Grasse, so in the time before acqueducts, fresh water was a big deal.

As for the perfume? By the middle ages, Grasse had become a tannery town (a tannery is where you turn animal hide into leather, etc.). Well-renowned for it, even - serving nobility and royalty - but with one big, blunt problem:

The leather smelled like shit.

That's not just a turn of phrase: made in a tannery, leather is treated with animal droppings. I actually saw and smelled (smelt?) smelt this firsthand in Marrakesh, so it's true, and it's not just Grasse. Anyway, at some point, the brilliant idea was had to treat the leather with perfume to cancel the odor. It continues to work out very well, even if the tanneries that originally inspired this industrial development didn't.

Anyway, I thought this was cool.

-Andy

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Close Enough For Government Work

Some of the kids call me "Teacher."

I would say that I don't know why, but that would mean I haven't noticed the very structured (this coming from me) and adult-revering educational system in which these children find themselves. Let me say it more sensationally.

I have discovered the source of French bureaucracy.

Until a week or two ago, my classes consisted almost entirely of oral exercises. We'd sing songs, drill words and structures, or play games. The procedure was clear and simple, they followed it, and nothing struck me as out-of-the-ordinary.

Then I added more written work. A sentence or two on the board for them to copy down in their notebooks. A direction to copy today's date and the days of the week on printer paper because that was the paper I found.

"Teacher? Teacher? What color pen should we use?"

"Teacher? Teacher? What page of the notebook do we write it on?"

And one from a kid in the class that got printer paper. This one's my favorite:

"Teacher? There are no lines on this paper."

Starting from a wee little age, French kids are taught to take notes and follow instructions just so. One color of pen(cil) for one sort of exercise/notes, another for the next, and a particular format to follow and style of cursive to be upheld. I can't tell you the number of times my 10-year-olds painstakingly write on the board in perfect cursive (boys included), only to even more painstakingly erase one or two letters to rewrite them the proper way, even though said letters were already perfectly legible (key word being "perfectly"). You should see how eager these kids are to hold up their copying and show me as I'm walking around just to make sure everyone's on task.

Erika corroborated this with her own observations from her high school exchange experience. When these kids grow up, their class notes are works of art. Paragraph form, color-coded by subject matter, impeccably formatted and indented. I take good notes, but even I use a little shorthand, and I know full well that a lone mechanical pencil is unsurpassed in utility: quick, eraseable, and fit for almost any handwritten task. But the trade-off is that my notes don't look professional. They're "close enough for government work," as my folks always say. Just, perhaps not close enough for this government's work.

It is little wonder, then, that an adult paperwork system with so many precise procedures thrives here... in a country where even 8-year-olds take notes just so, constantly checking with the teacher that they've got it exactly right.

...

So, what have I been doing with these kids, anyway? Most of them are still on basic stuff, but I've moved on to feelings ("I am happy," "I am thirsty," "I am angry," etc.) and days of the week. For my oldest class, I made up a worksheet to teach them directions (north, south, etc.), which doubled as a geography lesson about the United States. I've got a sheet about American money all ready to go for next week. That will be somewhat of a review: we've played "store" already with the American cash I had on me when I arrived and the various electronic devices I keep on me every day. Just to give you a better idea of what I'm up to, here's a peek inside my oldest class:


The kids are mostly getting it and they seem pretty enthusiastic still. I have the impression that my novelty is wearing off, as they're getting more comfortable (that's French for "rowdy") around me these days. I'm focusing now on varying the sorts of activities I do, so they don't write off English class as the place where they just do drills all the time. But even my most challenging class had a relatively good day on Tuesday. I'm content.

Let's see... other good moments recently...

Andy (the example question): "How old are you?"
Andy (the example answer): "I am 7 years old."
Student (to herself): "Uh... no."

Andy: "How are you?"
Student 1: "I am happy!"
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 2: "I am sleepy."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 3: "I am slappy."

Let's end with a game of "Caption This Photo":

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

"Where You Going?" "Barcelona." "Oh."

Big points to anybody can spot the title without the use of the internet. Here are the photos for this entry. And, as usual, my recommendations are in bold, with a nearby link to the location on Google Maps.

So, another week, another French holiday - and by golly, I actually had somewhere to go this time. As sort of an early birthday present to myself, I made plans to see Barcelona and meet up with my friend Alanna, who's studying in Valencia this semester. I got in on Thursday, 10 November and left on Sunday, 13 November. Alanna and I had an incredible time, whose wonder is matched only by the awful pun at the end of this (very long) entry.

Thursday

After a delayed flight, I found the hostel... Garden House Barcelona. It's affordable, well-maintained, and secure, and the staff and people are friendly. It's way up in the northern (residential) part of the city, but at least it was on a great metro line. I was going to explore downtown a bit, but I got in around 9, I was exhausted, and they were making paella right there in the garden, so I bought some (and a glass of sangria) for dinner. I befriended two French university students on vacation, and made plans with them to tour the city the next day.

Friday
My new friends had spent Thursday seeing all the big attractions, which worked out really well. I was able to tour around with them and save the must-sees for when Alanna would be there all day Saturday.

We started with the Arc de Triomf (which is pretty much what it sounds like) and a cute little nearby park. These were right next to Barri Gotic, the 'medieval quarter' full of neat shops, pretty side streets, and two fairly impressive gothic cathedrals. Somewhere in here, we stumbled upon what must have been an architecture school, which had some very cool models of very cool buildings in its very museum-like lobby.

We also found the Cultural Museum (not fully sure... we only walked around a small, free part, but it was still neat). We then spotted and scoped out a nearby market with a very cool Gaudí-esque rooftop (photo in the album). We almost got lunch there, but I remembered a friend's recommendation that we eat at a different, bigger market that wasn't too far away. So, we walked over there.

Ever make a suggestion and regret it later?

I don't mean that I regret visiting the Mercat de la Boqueria (located here). On the contrary: don't miss it. It's a huge fresh vegetable/fruit/fish/meat/candy/wine/cheese/everything market: more like a bazaar, really. I mean I regretted spending too long tracking down a friend's recommendation for lunch (a sit-down counter, I realized) when we were more in the mood to picnic. Although I did succeed in finding - of all things - a crepe stand. It's run by this very friendly guy who made very stylish crepes with Spanish ham, mushrooms, sautéed onions, and all that sort of good stuff. Not exactly a traditional Spanish dish, but definitely the best crepe I've had in Europe this time around (possibly in life as well). After lunch, the three of us found our way to the harbor.

Now's a good opportunity to mention that Barcelona is in its own unique time zone: the future. Every time some movie takes place in a futuristic utopia where sleek, classy architecture runs free with sculpture (its true love), remember that you could be in that city tomorrow if you booked a plane ticket. The harbor has all sorts of cool sculptural flair, lots of pretty sailboats, and a big building that - although a shopping mall complete with Starbucks - looks very cool. If Sony has any taste, the PlayStation 4 will look quite a bit like it.

Next set of stops involved a giant park area set into a small mountain on the south end of town. Lots of pretty trails and gardens leading up to panoramic views of the city and sea from an old fortress. We timed it perfectly: sunset. Several photos later, we meandered back down to the city itself, where I parted ways with my French pals to meet Alanna at the train station. After finding our way back to the hostel and settling in, Alanna and I tried our hand at looking in the hostel area for food. It was too suburban. Downtown we go!

...And we get lost...

But we found a Gaudí building, and eventually picked a tapas place on La Rambla, the main drag. Despite my efforts to order exotic, I wound up with basically a plate of chicken fingers in mayo sauce (although they were crispy and delicious). I also got a tapa that was crab meat wrapped in smoked salmon that was also tasty and a bit more... grown-up-y? Second round was an effort to order more chicken fingers, as well as a ham and cheese something... the word "bikini" was involved.

Because I pointed to the wrong thing, the chicken came out as a potato salad minus the potatoes, plus mushrooms, pineapple, and chicken. I... I just didn't know what to do.

And apparently "bikini" is Spanish for "grilled ham and cheese sandwich."

And Alanna convinced the come-to-your-table rose vendors that I'm allergic to roses.

Saturday
Parc Güell was on more of an incline than we realized, but that's a small price to pay for all the super-cool-super-crazy Gaudí work. Quick summary: he's a famous abstract (I say surrealist, but what do I know) architect born and raised in Barcelona. His architecture is a big draw that adds a lot of flavor to the city. You'll just have to look at the pictures. You have to visit this park: architecture, walks, and a lovely panoramic view. If you're on the clock, pick this over the fortress.

The reason you should try to spend 3-4 days in Barcelona is this: it takes a few screw-ups getting to know the place before you start getting things right. The upside is that, since I'd fumbled around the Boqueria marketplace once already (and, once again, located here), Alanna and I easily found my other friend's fabulous recommendation from the day before. El Quim de la Bouqeria is a lunch counter the size of any of any other market stand, but make no mistake: it's a fully functioning restaurant. And oh, how beautifully it doth function...

If you don't care so much about the food talk, skip to the second paragraph after the photo. But for those of you who have been awaiting detailed reports, today is your day.

Appetizers: Alanna stuck to tapas. To start, an omelette/tortilla/awesomeness, baked bean croquettes (croquettes are basically chicken nuggets, but not necessarily with the "chicken" part... evidently), and olives in a sauce (I don't recall what). All very good. Around the same time, I ordered mussels. I expected just a few (tapas style), but I got an appetizer portion of the little guys in a vegetable-rich tomato broth. I don't normally like tomato things that much, but this was so sweet and so rich in flavor that I was completely happy with it.

They gave us some bread, but to make absolutely sure I didn't waste the sauce, I put all the mussels in before eating any, put the shells on the side, and took a spoon to the whole thing: like a soup. Great decision... just like my decision to order a San Miguel beer on tap. I don't normally drink beer, but I had watched other diners enjoying tall, attractive, golden glasses of the stuff, and I said "Sure, why not?" It was cold, crisp, tasty, and not too bitter: perfect.

Main course: Alanna was waiting for her last tapas to show up: lightly fried potato wedges in a mayonnaise-based sauce. In the meantime, I was presented with this:


A leg of lamb, incredibly tender, and those potato wedges... Spain understands how to fry things. Not excessively, like you often find in the U.S. (deep-fried Oreo, anyone?), but enough to give you a crispy, crunchy outside yet still maintain a tender, potatoey inside. And that sauce you see? I could see all the little spices, it was light and nimble on the taste buds, and yet it is beyond my understanding. It was simply magic. Alanna's order of potato wedges (she made me help her with half) was pretty magical, too.

I should also point out that, because of the French holiday, there were a bunch of French tourists in Barcelona. I chatted with a few as Alanna and I waited for seats to clear out at lunch. It paid off, since the pair who was sitting and needed my help with the menu gave us their seats when they were done. I think I spoke more French with French people in Barcelona than I've spoken with French people in France in the last month combined.

After lunch, Alanna and I strolled La Rambla a bit and tried to find a free walking tour of Gaudí buildings. We didn't find the meeting place in time, but decided to focus on some souvenir shopping and then just headed straight for Sagrada Família.

I have traveled a good amount. In my travels, I have often looked for buildings of particular interest, or enjoyed and photographed the ones I found by accident. I don't know a huge amount about architecture, but I appreciate it very much in many forms and locations. It is the reason I visit cathedrals and basilicas, and why I enjoy doing so.

So, when I say that the Basilica Sagrada Família is perhaps the single most impressive building I have ever seen, I want you to understand my full meaning.

Brief history of the place: started at the end of the 19th century, the exterior of the basilica is still under construction (expected completion date is sometime in the middle of this century). The interior was only finished in 2010, and they still haven't installed all of the stained glass windows. As if this wasn't already enough fun and challenge, Gaudí died in a tram accident in 1926, before the plans were finished. So for generations now, the big architects on this job have two jobs (instead of just one) that constitute a Big Deal. One is building a basilica in a major European city. The other is doing so by interpreting sparse materials in order to be faithful to the largely unknown vision of a brilliant and thoroughly weird artist who left no conclusive instructions.

And I actually like that the construction is going to take until at least the 2050s-- after all, Notre Dame took about 200 years to build. If you're building something this big and in any kind of Gothic style, you need the appropriate level of detail and painstaking engineering. In short, buildings on this scale are supposed to take this long.

Antoni Gaudí: brilliant surrealist architect, bouncer.

So, we made it away from crazy basilica land and found ourselves at the Magic Fountain. No, seriously-- that's actually what it's called. It's a big fountain near the park with the fortress where they do a big, flashy, colorful light show a few times every evening, first show at 7. It was cool, I guess... Alanna and I only watched for fifteen minutes because you kind of get the idea by that point. Basically, imagine if Disney directed the fountain scene at the end of Ocean's 11.

More food talk coming up, so feel free to skip ahead a bit. We got dinner at La Pepita, a little bistro just off the roundabout at Diagonal metro (or, more specifically, here). The metro is called that because the streets are a grid around there and the big avenue cutting through - Diagonal - goes on a diagonal to the grid. Personally, I find simplicity and brilliance often go hand-in-hand for things like this.

The restaurant is essentially everything I love about New York (except theater). That doesn't leave much, but what it does leave amounts to a particular experience I particularly love. La Pepita is a bistro sixteen feet wide and very long: cozy, classy, and smartly minimalist in a way that is chic, but not obnoxious. Its one flourish (apart from the food) is the panoramic mirror behind the bar with the daily menu and drink specials written all across it in pretty Spanish cursive in off-white paint. You can walk in with a friend and without a reservation, sit by a window to watch passersby, and eat a stylishly prepared meal -- all at 11:30 PM, and all just off the beaten path of a gloriously cosmopolitan city.

I ordered the appetizer for us to share: Grilled Cazon (it's fish) roquettes with lime mayonnaise sauce on fresh lettuce. Quite good. Main course was better. The "pepita," best I can tell, is basically an open-faced grilled flatbread sandwich with any possible combination of ingredients. Alanna's was a grilled salmon salad with some heart-breaking-ly good salmon. Mine was a heart-attacking-ly good combination of a fried egg, tender grilled beef, potato wedges, and a slice of foie gras. It is everything my own touted "Breakfast of Champions" has ever wanted to be. So, despite my delicious glass of Spanish red wine (Ceres Ribera del Duero 2009), I likely have a coronary on the way. But at least then I can say I literally gave my heart to Barcelona.

Also, it was called "The Golden Pepita." How could you possibly not order something called "The Golden Pepita"?

We then met up with Alanna's college pal studying in Barcelona, code name: "Cousin"... it's a rugby thing... While trying to find her, Alanna and I actually walked through Barcelona's 'Occupy Wall Street' franchise. I thought that was cool; not only is it history and all that, but as an American in Europe, it's generally much more difficult for me to get my 99% on.

Speaking of the economy - and I can't believe that this is a coherent transition - Cousin took us to a really cool bar for relaxed drinks. My final recommendation this entry is Dow Jones, located near La Pepita. This is a laid-back expat bar with a premise that is both ingenious and brilliantly executed. Instead of a drinks menu above the bar, there's a big Wall Street-style stock ticker in the back of the room with drink names and prices: "San Miguel, 3E20 (+2,47%)"... "Mojito, 6E40 (+16,4%)"... etc., and when the cycle finishes, all the prices go up or down in response to what people are ordering. And every once in a while, flashing alarm lights will go off when the market 'crashes' and all the prices briefly drop 20%. It was just the right amount of crowded to feel happening and not overwhelming, and a three-person table was magically open as soon as we walked in.

It was pricey, but I was in Spain, so I ordered a mojito. It was delicious.

Sunday

It's quickly becoming a tradition that I get churros early on my last morning of a trip to Spain. No real point in recommending the place, seeing as how churros are churros are awesome are churros.

After snacking on those, Alanna and I found a cafe where we could sit on La Rambla and enjoy having the city to ourselves in the early morning for an hour or so. We said goodbye on the metro.

After accidentally getting on the wrong commuter train, I made it to the airport (which, by the way, is pristine and beautiful). There had been a 30% chance of rain on Saturday, but drops didn't fall until I was seated on my flight back to Nice. I was sad that I had to leave.

I was glad, however, that the rain in Spain fell mainly when I was on the plane.

-Andy

Friday, November 4, 2011

All Hallows

Forget Halloween as you experience it. Teenagers "trick-or-treating" without a costume and/or TP'ing your house (if you're Larry David and don't give them candy), adult parties where the costumes are basically polyester pick-up lines, or your and your friends' real costumes, which are variously clever, abstract, elaborate, inside jokes, gory, and/or downright genius. No, no - scratch all that. Think of all the most basic elements and images of Halloween. Ghost costumes, kids carrying cute little bags of candy, going door to door with smiles once a year...

That distilled version of Halloween? The one they (and I) teach in elementary school? That's Halloween in France.

I had asked a teacher (who was instrumental in the construction of my costume) at one of my schools if her kids were going trick-or-treating. Oh yes, she said (in French): a skeleton, a devil, a ghost, and she was going to be a witch. These were pretty much the same costumes I saw on kids who were running around the center of town on the afternoon of the Monday in question. It was pretty adorable. But it struck me that, as far as celebrating is concerned, they really don't spring for the theatrical over here. No Halloween specialty stores (perhaps for the better, but who knows), no fake blood on sale to complete your vampire costume, and unless you already dress like Jack Sparrow, good luck pulling off anything that ambitious. Over here on Halloween, it seems like they're grinning (or shrugging) and bearing it because everybody else in the world seems so into it.

As for Halloween At The Assistants'?

Well...


Creative? Perhaps not. Appropriate? Absolutely.

Ella and Katie joined us for dinner, which was a nice treat. Erika's delicious pumpkin soup and pie went nicely with a bottle of wine and my homemade... candy... I still can't cook.

...

I came back to work Thursday. Same as before, really. The kids all come running up shouting "Hello!" (often several times) and I say "Hello!" back in as many different voices as I can think of. They all pay oddly close attention during my largely repetition-based lessons on "How old are you?", "Where are you from?" - this week we added feelings and "How are you?"... Just like before the break, They seem to love it (and mostly get it), and just like before the break, I feel like things can't keep going this well without Karma getting steamed.

Before break, I mentioned my Halloween lessons, where I mini-mohawk-ed my hair to demonstrate my Tintin costume and gave out little caramel bars at the end of class when the kids would come up and say "Trick or Treat!" and "Happy Halloween!".

What I don't think I mentioned: one of my kids gave me a picture of a jack-o'-lantern he colored in (rather neatly). Just... for me to have. Another student left me with these exact words:

"Andy, you are my favorite teacher in English."