tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11533226296078346742024-03-05T07:34:00.711-08:00The French Life - tout de suite!Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-32030318134064291132010-10-29T14:20:00.000-07:002010-11-14T23:29:13.481-08:00Au RevoirI’ve been home for a week. The reverse culture shock is beginning to wane, and I’m starting to remember what life in the States is all about. My reintroduction wasn’t pleasant on the American Airlines plane due to the bad food, loud Americans, and rude flight attendants – one of them even spilled water on my head... On top of that I came home to a broken furnace which could result in a whole new heating system for the house. It was, however, great to see Lisa in Portland right after I got back who also had Buckley. He was soooo excited to see me. I saw a couple of friends in Seattle, and then got on the plane again to visit Meggie in Utah. Being with family is making the transition easier especially when they let you blab on for hours and hours about France.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRVFMjJ1FTbeqZS_-22-scI4o2QTG9l_Mp94Qhh9tjYNUcs8rUyTBfaGXK1g3rA0SfUhR-SVU3wmDA_hfWhMtBLfHSkPBYkjj0CFgtYfrqXjxNEpI5Ncl6j_bxVx16GwQuCXxEowhFM7iF/s1600/Bye1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533581541554346018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRVFMjJ1FTbeqZS_-22-scI4o2QTG9l_Mp94Qhh9tjYNUcs8rUyTBfaGXK1g3rA0SfUhR-SVU3wmDA_hfWhMtBLfHSkPBYkjj0CFgtYfrqXjxNEpI5Ncl6j_bxVx16GwQuCXxEowhFM7iF/s320/Bye1.JPG" /></a></p>I was having baguette withdrawals when I got back, so I went to the grocery store and bought one of the “high end” baguettes called the <em>Parisienne</em>. It was barely edible. Rather than continue to be disappointed with bad bread and cheese, I began to remember what things Americans do well. I had a killer cocktail at Mint in Portland called a Velvet (orange rum, blueberry puree, and cream) and a mind-boggling grilled cheese from the Grilled Cheese Grill. It was called The Jalepeno Popper with roasted jalapenos, colby jack, cream cheese, and tortilla chips. And of course, I had a few of the rich and creamy lattes in Seattle which will brighten anyone’s day.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvlFjRXsD_s_RdCwYCBinaeGmm3LcIeFG63vHIre1niRMOx3icydi00oSZqWzjyJVqsO_fplNCztT2aYHoVxs5q1pTXSS5C4wPEWNyCHLmflYSFuencwI0eNJR9Qf6uk1FcJZzumtPuI6/s1600/Bye2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533581539591240786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvlFjRXsD_s_RdCwYCBinaeGmm3LcIeFG63vHIre1niRMOx3icydi00oSZqWzjyJVqsO_fplNCztT2aYHoVxs5q1pTXSS5C4wPEWNyCHLmflYSFuencwI0eNJR9Qf6uk1FcJZzumtPuI6/s320/Bye2.JPG" /></a></p><p align="left">I can always continue to cook French food as well, especially since I have an arsenal of French women who are eagerly waiting to send recipes and advice. I fully intend to take advantage too. The only things I brought back from France were clothes and food. The things I decided I couldn’t live without were real Dijon mustard that makes you cry when eaten by the teasponful, <em>lentilles du Puy</em> that get their unique taste from the climate and volcanic ash they’re grown in, <em>sucre roux</em> which I only ended up with after a long search to find a substitute for brown sugar, <em>gros sel</em> which are the big fat crystals of sea salt (bigger than Kosher salt), the more refined <em>fleur de sel</em>, the yummy ginger biscuit spread Speculoos, more Bernachon chocolate, and some <em>rillettes</em> – the regional specialty of the Tourraine. Unfortunately I couldn’t figure out a way to bring back the butter packed with crystals of sea salt which makes me melt every time I think about spreading it on a big crusty piece of bread.<br /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV64_aQYcu-xIpl_xtiWwiGq9BvwTIOxVtgKHWv6ZXF3YQo-E2fLFWsvRg6IOB3gDfBQlxyT-D1H_yTA8MmdX7xlvicJy3YKWgGviqwy9OgF9JpgwT564IPcnNO3bgmVYRi0c0R65HmXhF/s1600/Bye3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533864751109100146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV64_aQYcu-xIpl_xtiWwiGq9BvwTIOxVtgKHWv6ZXF3YQo-E2fLFWsvRg6IOB3gDfBQlxyT-D1H_yTA8MmdX7xlvicJy3YKWgGviqwy9OgF9JpgwT564IPcnNO3bgmVYRi0c0R65HmXhF/s320/Bye3.JPG" /></a></p><p align="left">More than the food though, I will miss all the people I met in France. I am sure some of us will keep in touch for the rest of our lives. Everyone was friendly, warm, and welcoming. They were eager to help and show me their country. And for everyone I’m returning to in the States, thanks for reading the blog. It was fun to write and a bonus to know that you enjoyed reading it. I will obviously miss life in France, but as my host mom Barbara said, “<em>Il y aura toujours un avion à prendre pour revenir</em>.” (There will always be a plane to come back.) So then, <em>gros bisous et à bientôt</em>!</p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt88rhOW9-C4Futx7OCrsep7mrmRwuiXLLev6mPbe_920w9KlswR4yCdxmVDeOlEcHVQSHPorFr0L9imWZTYaAqHemKO8pItt54-7JVVgixKIl2YXJuE-4WGA1CuRTu0gQcnnLWVaFNCff/s1600/Bye4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533581534303908834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt88rhOW9-C4Futx7OCrsep7mrmRwuiXLLev6mPbe_920w9KlswR4yCdxmVDeOlEcHVQSHPorFr0L9imWZTYaAqHemKO8pItt54-7JVVgixKIl2YXJuE-4WGA1CuRTu0gQcnnLWVaFNCff/s320/Bye4.JPG" /></a></p>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-17315987271991677712010-10-29T12:03:00.000-07:002010-10-29T12:07:47.419-07:00Mon DépartI spent my last night in Paris at Sylvia’s apartment so that it would be easy for her boyfriend, Simon, to drive me to the airport in the morning. Unfortunately (and in true French fashion) his car broke down that evening, so I was going to have to take the metro and the RER. No problem. The metros had been running normally regardless of the SNCF strike. Sylvia also checked the website, and there were no reports of any disruptions. She even offered to take the same RER line with me on her way to school.<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTikTj6-SE0rtXYsqYlS_fdofH9Q65JU3Svgk0nIJlmf_9pPuG1zXSnBgCdFjcbU2tnc5a2ZeIQW08KWuu_40v7fqsPZol_OoEGRUv1lD0vfyFFrdTHQufZ3bkI0nkPsZdel8tfa2C4vh/s1600/Return1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533545970342043794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTikTj6-SE0rtXYsqYlS_fdofH9Q65JU3Svgk0nIJlmf_9pPuG1zXSnBgCdFjcbU2tnc5a2ZeIQW08KWuu_40v7fqsPZol_OoEGRUv1lD0vfyFFrdTHQufZ3bkI0nkPsZdel8tfa2C4vh/s320/Return1.jpg" /></a></p>We had a leisurely <em>petit-dejeuner</em> and got on the metro with my much-heavier-than-before rucksack. Then the problems started. We made the change to the RER, but it was only going to Gare du Nord, not the airport. At Gare du Nord, we eventually figured out that I was going to have to take the tramway and only a third of them were running due to the strike. Sylvia took me to the platform, but then had to say a rushed goodbye to head to school.<br /><br />The whole world was waiting for the same train as me, and everyone’s nerves were on edge. As soon as it arrived the pushing began, and it was difficult to hold back the crowds to let the arriving people off. Luckily I managed to get on the train. People were pushing and yelling. I was wedged in at an awkward angle with my rucksack weighing down on my shoulders. It was hot and claustrophobic. I had to remind myself to stay calm and take deep breaths. The trip was long, and by this time I started thinking I might miss my flight. At one point I had to get off the train to make room for others that needed to exit. I almost didn’t make it back on, and some people couldn’t even get off the train at their stops because they were wedged in so tightly.<br /><br />I made it to the airport five minutes before boarding time. When I arrived at the check-in counter I wasn’t surprised to hear the woman tell me that I was too late, and I would have to go to the ticket purchasing counter for a new ticket. I walked over and had just put down my bag for the first time in two hours when the same woman came running up and told me to follow her. Luckily, a lot of people were in the same situation as me so they allowed us all to check in and run to the gate. I couldn’t believe it and was even a little sad. I wouldn’t have been disappointed to extend my trip a couple days...<br /><br />They were still boarding when I made it to the gate. Ayumi called me right before I walked on the plane, so I was able to say goodbye to her and two of my professors one last time. I had to hold back tears as I walked on. I called Maryse as I sat on the plane to let her know I made it and say goodbye again. Jerome called just as I was hanging up with Maryse to say goodbye too. The plane somehow left on time. I was completely flustered and sad. I already miss everyone I’m leaving behind in France. This will be a difficult return to Seattle.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAz8A_9jjPPbRYkDU3-JLC01n71ySZlSREkHVSvLjVHXP4M7PcMiYnaNmnHX187iczVlEyxP5IB9WDmipe1CA0fsL73yF-VuJm1fuqrWreqTS_KZEyMyAH37QNcJfVSbBmiOIJxK5vhkSZ/s1600/Return2.png"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 223px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533545958389691634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAz8A_9jjPPbRYkDU3-JLC01n71ySZlSREkHVSvLjVHXP4M7PcMiYnaNmnHX187iczVlEyxP5IB9WDmipe1CA0fsL73yF-VuJm1fuqrWreqTS_KZEyMyAH37QNcJfVSbBmiOIJxK5vhkSZ/s320/Return2.png" /></a></p>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-40093200128260199802010-10-29T11:12:00.000-07:002010-10-29T11:25:29.956-07:00ParisMy week in Paris was fabulous because I got to spend time with one of my best friends that I grew up with in Saudi Arabia. Sylvia is in her second year of a Masters program in film, but she’s lived in Paris for five years. We haven’t been able to spend more than a couple days or even a couple hours together from time to time since I was 12. When I arrived, we picked up right where we left off and it was as if we had never been apart. It only could’ve been better if Meggie were there too. Sylvia even let me come to two of her film classes. The first was a film history class where we discussed the works of David Lynch. The second was a viewing of Apocalypse Now Redux with an introduction given by the editor, Sean Cullen, who is also the new editing teacher at the school.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAitwkr7aPrAa-JWqjO6yoNbMj7wV-xIo6SXoLuwvuJXTiFLWfT4c2kHn47zY25de6tCg4KVC_LJRJwxfuW6eP-l4g0NxkCR3d-rhbkRKQL089idA-5kwn3CXVDMDZx_AgvXqd5c-mW7S8/s1600/Paris1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533533509661002034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAitwkr7aPrAa-JWqjO6yoNbMj7wV-xIo6SXoLuwvuJXTiFLWfT4c2kHn47zY25de6tCg4KVC_LJRJwxfuW6eP-l4g0NxkCR3d-rhbkRKQL089idA-5kwn3CXVDMDZx_AgvXqd5c-mW7S8/s320/Paris1.JPG" /></a></p>I did see some of the sites while I was in the city as well, and made sure to partake in the excellent restaurants, patisseries, and chocolate shops. I had an excellent hotel in the St-Germain-des-Prés neighborhood, and the price was unheard of - only 55euros a night!<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxF6G7rO4mvd5SoiNwYyAWLNCaW3QlxvCBmyzZ3yR8LvMaxBT93uR5Ipi6zWuQiONsMfzuN2kIg6VWwolpJz4XtLCfCIHOMzDJAbs8C6b8qyGeRFGIdmR1HF_xuE-SuVmFEk_52eWUUd5/s1600/Paris2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533533494997744386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxF6G7rO4mvd5SoiNwYyAWLNCaW3QlxvCBmyzZ3yR8LvMaxBT93uR5Ipi6zWuQiONsMfzuN2kIg6VWwolpJz4XtLCfCIHOMzDJAbs8C6b8qyGeRFGIdmR1HF_xuE-SuVmFEk_52eWUUd5/s320/Paris2.JPG" /></a></p>I got to spend time with Sylvia’s French boyfriend as well. Simon is a gentle giant who drives celebrities and models around the city all day for work. His real passion though is his band that travels a lot for concerts. He was also a model for about six years, and Sylvia showed me his portfolio regardless of his protests.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3n5kgl0fdHVMu-kza2x63jw3M4A2SNu70HJIkpLbMqTS4fIibtZ711RVgYqRM4dvKcts37vsUfouXYdaYCNJTIFdV3jJvvhRx2o43kVlUMNhA9o2QBPJZwt_0s-hYqji9fq3zEXllNrqk/s1600/Paris3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533533488934111938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3n5kgl0fdHVMu-kza2x63jw3M4A2SNu70HJIkpLbMqTS4fIibtZ711RVgYqRM4dvKcts37vsUfouXYdaYCNJTIFdV3jJvvhRx2o43kVlUMNhA9o2QBPJZwt_0s-hYqji9fq3zEXllNrqk/s320/Paris3.JPG" /></a></p>My favorite culinary experiences in the city were pastries from Ladurée, falafel from L’As Du Falafel, Henri Le Roux's CBS caramels, Bernachon chocolate, and roasted chestnuts from the street vendors.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PpLaEIGkXP0VBtOVxdb9UOXCnWvN0lJYDJP5V-zuOjDPVK7W85cdv8pMt6rRbQCPzzN8tEMOFdbKnbpGW7jWbJk6FswVxJokl1OREhNhzGYN3hf9_JD8G_ikkdlGVjHCca06mYzbQCvq/s1600/Paris4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533533481209103762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PpLaEIGkXP0VBtOVxdb9UOXCnWvN0lJYDJP5V-zuOjDPVK7W85cdv8pMt6rRbQCPzzN8tEMOFdbKnbpGW7jWbJk6FswVxJokl1OREhNhzGYN3hf9_JD8G_ikkdlGVjHCca06mYzbQCvq/s320/Paris4.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20P0Uahf99bUtntMPOvF1bGf4hgpJEh_2YXHyI7AmeFilGEslTGlQYtjVdXHEK_WXSZCjawpxV9BFhpsODblsaT_mTF-8zsAcrw_11U8E8T3Qbri1nyMBaxdE4X7Ej2ydi10opd4YtNd9/s1600/Paris6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533533036808728178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20P0Uahf99bUtntMPOvF1bGf4hgpJEh_2YXHyI7AmeFilGEslTGlQYtjVdXHEK_WXSZCjawpxV9BFhpsODblsaT_mTF-8zsAcrw_11U8E8T3Qbri1nyMBaxdE4X7Ej2ydi10opd4YtNd9/s320/Paris6.JPG" /></a><br /></p><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95Qqq3PnzpRTTlry4Mlk1bzS9ZUoD3ylnsLx1D4vOYtPadoZVzh6vQ4lfYL6T63QvwC5svMptbPXlMXYhmqjyKHh0tQnuUmZugD83MvqjSDn2YKjz43pEv800TDb-RgcnNRahj5IIgJE0/s1600/Paris8.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533533017628779074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95Qqq3PnzpRTTlry4Mlk1bzS9ZUoD3ylnsLx1D4vOYtPadoZVzh6vQ4lfYL6T63QvwC5svMptbPXlMXYhmqjyKHh0tQnuUmZugD83MvqjSDn2YKjz43pEv800TDb-RgcnNRahj5IIgJE0/s320/Paris8.JPG" /></a></p><div>My overall feeling of the city was that it was huge and international. I was shocked at how much English I heard (as well as other languages). It was very different from the rest of France that I visited. Everyone I spoke with was nice, and I was very happy to be able to speak some French. Even though I heard a lot more English, I think the visit would’ve been difficult without knowing some French.<br /><br /></div><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnxu6eI9Kkc3ew0_AJVEWOpvtJ1_dNBBUvaeqgzIQmkemgOJbp5yTMsQaYDzTEMjq-RNcJbqVPEcr4bmpS4Si358wHxTKgkz162tUdMH0YAAO8VUGv_gW-xRZMx2bl_0CE4uu4tP5N5Xx/s1600/Paris5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533533045247783202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnxu6eI9Kkc3ew0_AJVEWOpvtJ1_dNBBUvaeqgzIQmkemgOJbp5yTMsQaYDzTEMjq-RNcJbqVPEcr4bmpS4Si358wHxTKgkz162tUdMH0YAAO8VUGv_gW-xRZMx2bl_0CE4uu4tP5N5Xx/s320/Paris5.JPG" /></a><br /><br /></p><div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4U1TZvaX6RHEoz3b3N-arbyvf41O4Z2S1NS1lzKN2xTNya7PJeOC_LHW4aRcGD81gethsu4xjtlZwSbae7fTg6NMMRvAaGp3eSmhVc0xPWqY_0aasPbQ7gcqV0uPL_hIZDcU-jtQOg9h/s1600/Paris7.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533533027472220642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4U1TZvaX6RHEoz3b3N-arbyvf41O4Z2S1NS1lzKN2xTNya7PJeOC_LHW4aRcGD81gethsu4xjtlZwSbae7fTg6NMMRvAaGp3eSmhVc0xPWqY_0aasPbQ7gcqV0uPL_hIZDcU-jtQOg9h/s320/Paris7.JPG" /></a></p><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHObvOIdqZNNkRqPCnIWRYPBQvUJbwa3wo2U4uBDHh2-OmjXTnbbMdFL5R_duEmOIXuvkq_TlIFiItqOOWZI4-9aDzxi_17DNFNtlM2tnsqQISN_d7NpmQnyeO3rV1V3qIJzTUJ0bEiEF/s1600/Paris9.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533533008699675106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHObvOIdqZNNkRqPCnIWRYPBQvUJbwa3wo2U4uBDHh2-OmjXTnbbMdFL5R_duEmOIXuvkq_TlIFiItqOOWZI4-9aDzxi_17DNFNtlM2tnsqQISN_d7NpmQnyeO3rV1V3qIJzTUJ0bEiEF/s320/Paris9.JPG" /></a> </p></div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-35293769466530583472010-10-29T09:40:00.000-07:002010-10-29T10:05:51.729-07:00BourgesAfter leaving Tours, I headed to Bourges to visit my 3rd cousin. My great-grandmother was French but immigrated to the US after meeting my great-grandfather during WWI. My cousin, Maryse, is the daughter of my great-grandmother’s brother (there was a large age gap between the siblings). Maryse lives in Bourges, which is about 2 hours East of Tours and 2 hours South of Paris (both by slow train, not TGV). I was 3 years old the last time I saw her, so although I had always wanted to reconnect with her, I was a little anxious to meet her again.<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyLsDSkd4oRJCGQKX5rmcch0Khuc5Hvu3pldpdu9nTENKub2y019w-ZGhcceBFlub3hFQHyYHxB7KWEHTEUMw0jsszO0mqXwJvb06MDwguEzRZIfpM6ftqdmztj-yDfeYOA3DpBhzlx4Y/s1600/Bourges1a.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533511046717041282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyLsDSkd4oRJCGQKX5rmcch0Khuc5Hvu3pldpdu9nTENKub2y019w-ZGhcceBFlub3hFQHyYHxB7KWEHTEUMw0jsszO0mqXwJvb06MDwguEzRZIfpM6ftqdmztj-yDfeYOA3DpBhzlx4Y/s320/Bourges1a.JPG" /></a></p>Maryse, unfortunately, broke her leg in the spring. She is still not able to get around very well, and uses canes or a wheelchair. She lives alone but has very good friends who stop by the house everyday to help out. I was able to meet most of them during the five days I was in Bourges. Since Maryse couldn’t take me on a tour of the city, her friends acted as tour guide in her place. Her friends Annick, Serge, and their son, Jerome, did a lot for me during my stay. They drove me around town, gave me numerous tours of the city, and took me out to restaurants (Saxo the dog got to come too!). Maryse, of course, accompanied us whenever there wasn’t too much walking involved.<br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjznOGwRdclId9Wp3emRtsjpbzNJwxGLYcAqD0rYi1WAaR6uWGrxub2XaoWmOF9t_vFq-nm8uL6syNd0YJXDoPH6hMolXW4-3tvhCZ2O2iqepjrwVASN_oVFeHTtVSIjM4BV0CZbvLU3pCT/s1600/Bourges3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533509383732132450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjznOGwRdclId9Wp3emRtsjpbzNJwxGLYcAqD0rYi1WAaR6uWGrxub2XaoWmOF9t_vFq-nm8uL6syNd0YJXDoPH6hMolXW4-3tvhCZ2O2iqepjrwVASN_oVFeHTtVSIjM4BV0CZbvLU3pCT/s320/Bourges3.JPG" /></a></p>The minute I got to Maryse’s house from the station, I was immediately family. She talked a mile a minute with her friend, Annick. I hadn’t been there five minutes when she told me I ought to marry Annick’s son, Jerome, because Maryse is his godmother and then we would all be a family! She was always happy, always smiling, and she talked a lot! I generally understood about half of what she said, but it was always fun.<br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18B6cclAe4PYkwXldYDDZy9ZbOu2XO7aUZ4DUvbTT9_ybH4rcc3DMJ2xVuOPasqVzlW3tOTfWeLy4hpdT8nVpqvAAwNh1dNeMfBvVr2NVqEwG8Uj0QO93EhHrhhpWnqbPpCLa5H2rKvNv/s1600/Bourges4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533509366961434546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18B6cclAe4PYkwXldYDDZy9ZbOu2XO7aUZ4DUvbTT9_ybH4rcc3DMJ2xVuOPasqVzlW3tOTfWeLy4hpdT8nVpqvAAwNh1dNeMfBvVr2NVqEwG8Uj0QO93EhHrhhpWnqbPpCLa5H2rKvNv/s320/Bourges4.JPG" /></a></p>We ate a lot of food and drank a lot of wine. Maryse took me to les Marais, which is a huge network of gardens owned by the habitants of Bourges. Each garden is seperated by water, and everyone takes old wooden boats to get to their gardens.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZXU9EUUdOBuFBF2nygGbn0hBIRYlwKDjFDw2hyphenhyphen4xiCe6eARD97dT0F73DMmYWDRW4ypsssDwdoTR9M76Ijto6gFVsxdH2Fk66YLdJ3AnKKdB1STZMF1XBqhyphenhyphenML6S29vXTlJRf2CTYktD5/s1600/Bourges1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533509512091501458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZXU9EUUdOBuFBF2nygGbn0hBIRYlwKDjFDw2hyphenhyphen4xiCe6eARD97dT0F73DMmYWDRW4ypsssDwdoTR9M76Ijto6gFVsxdH2Fk66YLdJ3AnKKdB1STZMF1XBqhyphenhyphenML6S29vXTlJRf2CTYktD5/s320/Bourges1.JPG" /></a></p>Annick and Serge took me to the cathedral, and we climbed the 373 stairs to the top.<br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIMpHXUxZVaryTXqyBqR4p4BQEozJZjHSNkXlQ1bZAr_tbLQuEVumV4DxgDuQtl6UOk0uf8G1kKkaOI9wmpQD_ZPdii0EjUwE8gJivqF0_aYfrAiWkj6x6K0x_srlw2wQopxwXAI6b6zJ6/s1600/Bourges2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533509505192213778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIMpHXUxZVaryTXqyBqR4p4BQEozJZjHSNkXlQ1bZAr_tbLQuEVumV4DxgDuQtl6UOk0uf8G1kKkaOI9wmpQD_ZPdii0EjUwE8gJivqF0_aYfrAiWkj6x6K0x_srlw2wQopxwXAI6b6zJ6/s320/Bourges2.JPG" /></a></p>Jerome took me to museums and walked around town with me. We even got a look at the <em>manifestation</em>. On my last full day we all took a drive into the countryside where we visited a village of potters. The funniest part of my visit was when Maryse would tell me I was skinny and then pinch my shoulder, elbow, or knee. My best memory of the trip was when Maryse taught me how to make mayonnaise.<br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhbpcPxZZZanJ-Fb02zWqrQpKx4V_RIiDeVZ5Y6VhSwl20TyNFwtmTQ4srjbOpuMZ4dno9i9NMjZ_k2mVQjjCJfwSEz9AKjWLk8PMzMOiqSf6l9sysYBE5IcESo1YEE_nPLeChPS4oqrV/s1600/Bourges5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533509347172513298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhbpcPxZZZanJ-Fb02zWqrQpKx4V_RIiDeVZ5Y6VhSwl20TyNFwtmTQ4srjbOpuMZ4dno9i9NMjZ_k2mVQjjCJfwSEz9AKjWLk8PMzMOiqSf6l9sysYBE5IcESo1YEE_nPLeChPS4oqrV/s320/Bourges5.JPG" /></a></p>The craziest experience I had was visiting Jerome’s school where he is a teacher. When I arrived in Bourges he and his mom picked me up at the train station. I hadn’t been off the train for a whole minute before he asked me if I wanted to visit his school. I said, “Why not?!” Then the night before my visit, he explained what to expect at the school. I was surprised to learn that I would actually be presented to the students in his two classes so that they could ask me questions about the U.S.! He handed me a piece of paper with a little bio of myself and a list of questions to expect. Luckily, the English teacher had prepared them for me in English, but I was expected to respond in French as much as possible. Jerome reassured me that the students were very nice and I had nothing to be nervous about. The experience turned out to be really fun. The students were indeed nice and asked a lot of questions. They wanted to know which French celebrities I knew and which French brand names are available in the U.S. They were shocked when I told them I worked a minimum of 40 hours a week at Boeing and that I only had 10 days of vacation each year. When I told them I was going to Paris next they told me what I should visit, and then tried to convince the teachers that they should all get to spend a day in Paris with me. It didn’t end up working out, but it was really cute. I was totally shocked, but afterwards Jerome told me that my visit to the school was going to be in Bourges’ local paper! I was even more shocked when it actually appeared a couple days later.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEZSm24kImis1CC5HOQSq-fH0uV8T58Yd_dkWr3SFuCoy_ijHOfF7JgKujCHZc8ROo7r3rT9f8leKR9o7ZHunooAe1-ABfBDp8gR0QXum5L9IyhQ03jSl_Ff6KfQwEAF9vdbOlXNnI9cc/s1600/Bourges6.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 277px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533509327047922306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEZSm24kImis1CC5HOQSq-fH0uV8T58Yd_dkWr3SFuCoy_ijHOfF7JgKujCHZc8ROo7r3rT9f8leKR9o7ZHunooAe1-ABfBDp8gR0QXum5L9IyhQ03jSl_Ff6KfQwEAF9vdbOlXNnI9cc/s320/Bourges6.jpg" /></a></p>I was really sad to leave Maryse. Due to the strike going on she was very worried about me getting to Paris. She and Annick dropped me off at the station, and even found a woman who was going to Paris and asked her to keep an eye on me. I had to take a bus first, and Maryse told the bus driver that her “little American” was going to Paris and to take good care of me. I hope to return soon!<br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WpuJSjPtulK4hh74GLAeHzwz4frHEAIw18VL89CVhkswahjDZfA6cyNrkfOlugxPx0Pi_oVXt20UCK190Hqko35qVg5Bg83TOl4j2I_4Kd6zrNphwyipEDdLPyiWolTrWO4J_LOcb1lw/s1600/Bourges7.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533509321432969458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WpuJSjPtulK4hh74GLAeHzwz4frHEAIw18VL89CVhkswahjDZfA6cyNrkfOlugxPx0Pi_oVXt20UCK190Hqko35qVg5Bg83TOl4j2I_4Kd6zrNphwyipEDdLPyiWolTrWO4J_LOcb1lw/s320/Bourges7.JPG" /></a></p>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-37009113543814744642010-10-29T08:00:00.000-07:002010-10-29T09:10:14.615-07:00Apartments in Tours<div>***written a few weeks ago***<br /><br />I’m on the train yet again traveling through the French countryside on my way to Bourges. This time, my stomach is in knots. It was much more difficult to leave Tours this time. The two and a half months I spent there was truly a rich experience for me. I was lucky to have the opportunity to live with two different women, Martine and Barbara. Although they are colleagues and friends, they are quite different. Their differences are apparent in the way they keep their apartments.<br /><br />Martine lives in the heart of Tours in a square called <em>La Place de la Résistance</em>. It’s a five minute walk to the medieval <em>quartier</em> of Tours (which is also where my school was). Her apartment is on the 4th floor of a building that was built after WWII due to it being in an area that had been bombed. The building was constructed with the traditional façade of limestone walls (<em>truffeau</em>) and a grey roof.<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-hy4eKeaGR9leqiMNrl9EWRp4eGA7Q8SoZVaF1LqQ1maRFhJpLET2yQqxqlZ0HIXL012CBp8kqrP0QIjJqGQsn1h3_WJIiu5ZhsS45l6ziC1z8_ROeLu-T1mKlpTwf4-74Kr74vHQKRd/s1600/apM7.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533499968795162290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-hy4eKeaGR9leqiMNrl9EWRp4eGA7Q8SoZVaF1LqQ1maRFhJpLET2yQqxqlZ0HIXL012CBp8kqrP0QIjJqGQsn1h3_WJIiu5ZhsS45l6ziC1z8_ROeLu-T1mKlpTwf4-74Kr74vHQKRd/s320/apM7.jpg" /></a></p><div><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tZx09OJoEgeNJwUKe-P0MmrbClrsAEwRuwtZsIbWYUQFnMY4WsmVHCbTZfEQnH8uCTYMBtFzxz6Plwmddx7GaTB1bR8OWFuDYnqtiRwjVYZuFv-oVFxHIqySiLMSBUqtg_f74LYXqoj4/s1600/apM1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483885552870290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tZx09OJoEgeNJwUKe-P0MmrbClrsAEwRuwtZsIbWYUQFnMY4WsmVHCbTZfEQnH8uCTYMBtFzxz6Plwmddx7GaTB1bR8OWFuDYnqtiRwjVYZuFv-oVFxHIqySiLMSBUqtg_f74LYXqoj4/s320/apM1.JPG" /></a></p><div>The apartment has old hardwood floors that creak, marble fireplaces, crown molding in the salon, and beautiful enormous windows that somehow always manage to find a breeze. </div><div><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpWusV9lM7A6OfNl4t2JCf4ARC_eiKsYsnak6vS2Ff1EHjwxeFJJZn0CRMMsN8-ratWACpKd-4wQ5cLHY9NcaZK-5ng_tfXW08KzIO6q2lZSwcSgNch54AngQxl24Zua1BgBMf-34M1e4/s1600/apM2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483604234011650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpWusV9lM7A6OfNl4t2JCf4ARC_eiKsYsnak6vS2Ff1EHjwxeFJJZn0CRMMsN8-ratWACpKd-4wQ5cLHY9NcaZK-5ng_tfXW08KzIO6q2lZSwcSgNch54AngQxl24Zua1BgBMf-34M1e4/s320/apM2.JPG" /></a></p><div><br /></div><div>The kitchen is the traditional French style (i.e. tiny) with a door, and there are two bedrooms. Martine loves antiques, so everything in the apartment is old and mismatched, which creates an overall laidback feeling. The walls are covered in her artwork, her friends artwork, and photos of her family and friends.</div><div><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYxr1jzNB_l_oHPdVJZtvAfwd2XwaeUEglCX04Pnd3eyguZs6ReGz7bHYccp-o7OnXQCrhmIGypFLU_5jgRh9BQP7EpBAlXYFTcsFTRBJ1Xvakk5NXYRk0fxVdTAf9-1-ufqKMHCJWLaN/s1600/apM3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483603178262050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYxr1jzNB_l_oHPdVJZtvAfwd2XwaeUEglCX04Pnd3eyguZs6ReGz7bHYccp-o7OnXQCrhmIGypFLU_5jgRh9BQP7EpBAlXYFTcsFTRBJ1Xvakk5NXYRk0fxVdTAf9-1-ufqKMHCJWLaN/s320/apM3.JPG" /></a></p><div> </div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHpS2nvvfFIkMyzW9YXcscow3zGJUaljqJ5ECQJtHEzqLXVbN4DhjkXuC25IOuAboP7ml5zkrWBfEpxq7zTGLsfDzQbt5BnfvzkBz645cLBYov8rZpceZ1hn2AprnJJ9K7GkvuBjxz-WP/s1600/apM5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483593259430834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHpS2nvvfFIkMyzW9YXcscow3zGJUaljqJ5ECQJtHEzqLXVbN4DhjkXuC25IOuAboP7ml5zkrWBfEpxq7zTGLsfDzQbt5BnfvzkBz645cLBYov8rZpceZ1hn2AprnJJ9K7GkvuBjxz-WP/s320/apM5.JPG" /></a></p><div><br /></div><div>The bathroom has an old bathtub with feet, a handheld sprayer, and no curtain. It took a little get used to, and I still managed to spray the floors from time to time. Her bathroom is also littlered with perfume bottles and pretty shopping bags from stores like Hermès.<br /></div><div><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLejCcX5faW_J4Jauillp1tup8zEjcM2eWd4mDsx5OJoRPOcadTHfpqIirA-4atvn-t4poqmS8hZ8IARTbuAzFwdNnXu68lrWHYZdntlY0Kyoy79A_Lbm53Zsn9vS-5QvxeNYEuCQJ7ONj/s1600/apM4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483596532289842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLejCcX5faW_J4Jauillp1tup8zEjcM2eWd4mDsx5OJoRPOcadTHfpqIirA-4atvn-t4poqmS8hZ8IARTbuAzFwdNnXu68lrWHYZdntlY0Kyoy79A_Lbm53Zsn9vS-5QvxeNYEuCQJ7ONj/s320/apM4.JPG" /></a></p><div><br /></div><div>The apartment is very cozy and very Martine.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7Xged7hXCgPtTZfGZMmXhz6contFsesZq9LVfYZYensBPcUtuDlys_GkW0Cv9vRi4dgeiM13IRjRtONj5V5VfAQSRFV-95rq905humfN0CU2w4K-MUmkR1LZq61n3EXTT5O52R_MroTi/s1600/apM6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483587943588514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7Xged7hXCgPtTZfGZMmXhz6contFsesZq9LVfYZYensBPcUtuDlys_GkW0Cv9vRi4dgeiM13IRjRtONj5V5VfAQSRFV-95rq905humfN0CU2w4K-MUmkR1LZq61n3EXTT5O52R_MroTi/s320/apM6.JPG" /></a></p><br /><div>Barbara lives in a completely different part of town. She and her son, Nans, live in the <em>quartier Giraudeau</em>, in the SW part of Tours. It’s a thirty minute walk to my school from the apartment, but I had the opportunity to walk through more neighborhoods in Tours that I otherwise would have never seen. It’s a much more modern part of town with a much more diverse group of people. Most of her neighbors are either French or North African.<br /><br /></div><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlnqRC-KlVMhTPJjyUJnrsVfCrKV3BTXO6rTMS1bJe3dOq6jjSHwN2GAkFgtpziA_KIckQRQlXS7BHHCS-YVVvMMSOJlV0Ua6dbJn3jBr6gO0PpkKmpNHvEyPu7ifgdwDQmDTEuIwS-W6/s1600/apB1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533484237047697986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlnqRC-KlVMhTPJjyUJnrsVfCrKV3BTXO6rTMS1bJe3dOq6jjSHwN2GAkFgtpziA_KIckQRQlXS7BHHCS-YVVvMMSOJlV0Ua6dbJn3jBr6gO0PpkKmpNHvEyPu7ifgdwDQmDTEuIwS-W6/s320/apB1.JPG" /></a></p><br /><div>The building is small with stores on the first floor facing the street, and two floors of apartments on the back side. It sort of looks like a concrete shoebox. The building was surrounded by high rise apartments on all sides. There was actually grass, a playground, and big trees where a huge flock of birds lived and chirped at all hours of the day. It was much quieter and peaceful (although the noise at Martine’s was never a problem, just different).</div><br /><div></div><div></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpaGVUMCEAcuNgjDv1NPFM16sU8ifDzwHLlFS9XzO6wrSpMsLdwdzI7e_Mdec_U7WASEWu9JBB85tr1Ls3Zi348Zhqg_pvwh8PN5MxokU8GnfG2I-VW5QQhLRF0N0E1lZZdIoeJU0Steh/s1600/apB2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533484233511638562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkpaGVUMCEAcuNgjDv1NPFM16sU8ifDzwHLlFS9XzO6wrSpMsLdwdzI7e_Mdec_U7WASEWu9JBB85tr1Ls3Zi348Zhqg_pvwh8PN5MxokU8GnfG2I-VW5QQhLRF0N0E1lZZdIoeJU0Steh/s320/apB2.JPG" /></a></p><br /><div>The apartment has three bedrooms, one bathroom, a salon, and a kitchen. The kitchen is <em>une cuisine americaine</em> which means it has no door.</div><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYmos-bcLUPsBCxakGvNdWaXXZIEpmYyslqsvLYGXU4QLWxhg0ClZulbsmqH_htiPYrHRlaDzSCzf_-wvelPEfce2lm2tqqLJNodm1verQwzyjB3DgP52Vu3vkw1ZHs_SUL45HSBwliE5/s1600/apB5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483895777698002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYmos-bcLUPsBCxakGvNdWaXXZIEpmYyslqsvLYGXU4QLWxhg0ClZulbsmqH_htiPYrHRlaDzSCzf_-wvelPEfce2lm2tqqLJNodm1verQwzyjB3DgP52Vu3vkw1ZHs_SUL45HSBwliE5/s320/apB5.JPG" /></a></p><br /><div>Everything in the apartment was much more modern. All the windows were new double pane windows with outdoor blinds that opened and closed with the push of a button. The salon, Barbara’s bedroom, and Nans’ bedroom all had french doors and a balcony. The floors were all laminate, and all the rooms were whitewashed except for one pink wall. Barbara is a bit more computer savvy, so there was wi-fi in the apartment, as well as a printer, and cable TV. I hadn’t watched any French TV when I arrived at her place, so it was a new experience for me. French TV has a reputation of being horrible, and I can now say that I agree. Most of it consists of bad American series and films dubbed in French. All the décor in the apartment was also more modern with an Ikea-ish style.</div><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVFktkJi_OjSKUC7lDktsQCUo6aKed-O4wF5Bz-as8dCEcxf0ACjbre_l17QSCcNlm9v9HgYBGw_G4VsiJ00MxgrbH7m3N2IK48z7rpMg1YJj9-t5WzphHmgy-o_pPKr0Q4ZtuxCrMZld/s1600/apB6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483894960970594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVFktkJi_OjSKUC7lDktsQCUo6aKed-O4wF5Bz-as8dCEcxf0ACjbre_l17QSCcNlm9v9HgYBGw_G4VsiJ00MxgrbH7m3N2IK48z7rpMg1YJj9-t5WzphHmgy-o_pPKr0Q4ZtuxCrMZld/s320/apB6.JPG" /></a></p><div></div><div>The apartment also came with two pets! There was Valine the doxen and Caroline the <em>tortue</em>. Valine liked lounging on the Tintin sheets on my bed. Caroline preferred to sleep in a dark corner in the kitchen. When the weather was warm enough, she'd emerge and I'd find her in a different corner.<br /><br /></div><div></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xjAIBpx9bLA5WGGC-FEg8TkE2z9alGk7RGEu4gDrzDFNIBXX54c_78TvutRaNtvlCl_5DsM2lGzwDGDy1ueQsnIsyJX_kjpDUAq9ZSH1vFAFXDz_JrzTHx7htPhdRHXQr4RZ7brGQs1Y/s1600/apB3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533484228178259186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xjAIBpx9bLA5WGGC-FEg8TkE2z9alGk7RGEu4gDrzDFNIBXX54c_78TvutRaNtvlCl_5DsM2lGzwDGDy1ueQsnIsyJX_kjpDUAq9ZSH1vFAFXDz_JrzTHx7htPhdRHXQr4RZ7brGQs1Y/s320/apB3.JPG" /></a></p><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF1cVdqyEUpJA72ZJYJCmSTj4Dcim6cL-W1XV-SMVRJGLrAA8ZfOlR__o5H5wtYDeT38QsxsymUpSBL33f7rTsVb8ozVPNXqLnSUhOfkhH-m-_fCTgxQHrcmpNNyaOeJU2N_x9yR8hURRL/s1600/apB4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483896234268034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF1cVdqyEUpJA72ZJYJCmSTj4Dcim6cL-W1XV-SMVRJGLrAA8ZfOlR__o5H5wtYDeT38QsxsymUpSBL33f7rTsVb8ozVPNXqLnSUhOfkhH-m-_fCTgxQHrcmpNNyaOeJU2N_x9yR8hURRL/s320/apB4.JPG" /></a></p><div>The bathroom was also more modern. There was a shower curtain, and I had the option of standing up to shower!<br /></div><div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Z8dZD4_6b0qCBOsANvLvHrAJMhOlN-xcL3J_Y4Bj5cri3OlOvUQaj9jc_K1Pr0MgdCFKtYxW13-_nqCbm6JqOVgsFgN9VC5fFBXpHcGMQfrqi7LERm00zqct8XEYCPH3zZTU7ChyaOJI/s1600/apB7.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533483888725141218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Z8dZD4_6b0qCBOsANvLvHrAJMhOlN-xcL3J_Y4Bj5cri3OlOvUQaj9jc_K1Pr0MgdCFKtYxW13-_nqCbm6JqOVgsFgN9VC5fFBXpHcGMQfrqi7LERm00zqct8XEYCPH3zZTU7ChyaOJI/s320/apB7.JPG" /></a></p><div>Overall it was a really comfortable apartment, and I’ll miss it.<br /><br />It was fun to experience both living styles because they were so different. With each host mom I was also able to meet their families and see how they lived. I will miss them both very much! </div></div></div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-88959092343192277252010-09-29T10:14:00.000-07:002010-09-29T11:15:32.340-07:00Fièvre des ChampignonsAutumn in France is mushroom season, and everyone, including me, is excited. Whether you talk to a teacher, a butcher, or the guy who drives a scooter around town vacuuming up dog poop (yes he exists...) they will all have something to say about mushroom hunting. Where to find mushrooms and what types grow in your region is common knowledge here. Not only that, but a French person can tell you what type of mushroom grows under which tree and will then rattle off a dozen recipes for cooking the mushrooms. Don’t expect someone to give you the coordinates of their favorite spot though. The best locations are kept secret and passed down through the generations like a family heirloom.<br /><br />Mushroom hunting is also a risky business, but fret not, you can take all the mushrooms you find to a local pharmacist who will tell you which are edible and which are deadly... Many of the pharmacies have posters in the windows right now with descriptions of the local fungi. Even the local shops are getting in on the fun displaying all the essentials: mushroom knives with little brooms on the handles, books, and compasses.<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUOnDxAjYWW0wzZt8T6whyphenhyphenbU8YJKVmflnbr_NK0JIqw8f4CzKl63JRdd245T3SZh529M_31MvMuOfJ1-eoVevbhcNQWfPBr5M03PWr25tHu0OWQ2EAVxjYT1KVkP-LgM3t3iQU0_qrgYSq/s1600/Champ1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386867719038370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUOnDxAjYWW0wzZt8T6whyphenhyphenbU8YJKVmflnbr_NK0JIqw8f4CzKl63JRdd245T3SZh529M_31MvMuOfJ1-eoVevbhcNQWfPBr5M03PWr25tHu0OWQ2EAVxjYT1KVkP-LgM3t3iQU0_qrgYSq/s320/Champ1.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihRZDxOlsI04aZtLrIf2Q5rv8wG35uRz50UlI-PkngFpx_4W1D6Y8XmcWCQH9zOITHlKxkyTKhcW7M_HBfvKYvA2r6oNbycu_fRegJH0m7zMmT24WC8bKfNEDPa0v1VwqPjBgIOb_QT5eV/s1600/Champ2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386861377935570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihRZDxOlsI04aZtLrIf2Q5rv8wG35uRz50UlI-PkngFpx_4W1D6Y8XmcWCQH9zOITHlKxkyTKhcW7M_HBfvKYvA2r6oNbycu_fRegJH0m7zMmT24WC8bKfNEDPa0v1VwqPjBgIOb_QT5eV/s320/Champ2.JPG" /></a></p>I’ve been waiting patiently (except for a little pouting last week) for Martine to take me on a hunt, and finally, the day arrived last Saturday. She and I drove into the country after lunch. I was dressed sensibly for the forest in my Mizuno trail runners, Patagonia hiking pants, and rustic sweater. Martine was also dressed sensibly for the forest in a beautiful brown wool (possibly cashmere) turtleneck, brown leggings, and brown riding boots.<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqYntIjPdqK0pjiDt_aud0aX8PZIOsHton4WDHqx_g9zDdvpBdeWbIc4DitiiIZlrCs5HXscYnax8fZULp8HWp0OEY0jC65BbsRLNfoHsSpZf47IB26s3nboKPJQfL-8IGBH9AP6v9lJY/s1600/Champ3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 282px; HEIGHT: 206px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386656779868946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqYntIjPdqK0pjiDt_aud0aX8PZIOsHton4WDHqx_g9zDdvpBdeWbIc4DitiiIZlrCs5HXscYnax8fZULp8HWp0OEY0jC65BbsRLNfoHsSpZf47IB26s3nboKPJQfL-8IGBH9AP6v9lJY/s320/Champ3.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxc8jr-a3FjVzYqm2UCv1p_oim3Zy64G7al0Abj_5WFkgqXQHeTtkXQIJvncFu5mW2Aw98TJVjHu4PEdycicKqBd6QwGQfkZbJi2gvUylLnoisiAZ6VeTvdBsw8b4Rw0GyWcc6AAkqRfY/s1600/Champ4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 275px; HEIGHT: 207px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386649208653698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxc8jr-a3FjVzYqm2UCv1p_oim3Zy64G7al0Abj_5WFkgqXQHeTtkXQIJvncFu5mW2Aw98TJVjHu4PEdycicKqBd6QwGQfkZbJi2gvUylLnoisiAZ6VeTvdBsw8b4Rw0GyWcc6AAkqRfY/s320/Champ4.JPG" /></a></p>We drove about 30 minutes until we saw a trail on the side of the road marked ‘public’ and pulled over. One has to be careful not to get caught collecting mushrooms on private land. This time of year there are “mushroom rangers” patrolling the woods, and if you’re caught in the wrong place you have to hand your mushrooms over to the ranger who then has a lovely dinner that night. Luckily all the woods are marked clearly.<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XZpKc7QM13Tgim284r_7uwD0Wx9AGQoQHIbaWbcoXPle0KKCHglIETf-QJmmAgEA_IYVx4fZHQ3DdWPffUCJR6NRVh1fCD4mwW7lbEZZGdHiEpkeGeKcp8oMmpX8FOu1IxlXrIBCvAuw/s1600/Champ4a.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 290px; HEIGHT: 212px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386641964186210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XZpKc7QM13Tgim284r_7uwD0Wx9AGQoQHIbaWbcoXPle0KKCHglIETf-QJmmAgEA_IYVx4fZHQ3DdWPffUCJR6NRVh1fCD4mwW7lbEZZGdHiEpkeGeKcp8oMmpX8FOu1IxlXrIBCvAuw/s320/Champ4a.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Vw6wQnbEmNnjvzaWKN_sI6rbPmsog95WP8M_QV5o5NaUGXhaQLrLLyv2TPKtVKjqS2EODIgkWfftER0mtwFefvhY6w7QHMUpVOuZCQ2pKPShSPB28G1eswsCQU-JWZ9GmED2_LzTu5JO/s1600/Champ5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 271px; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386639272963538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Vw6wQnbEmNnjvzaWKN_sI6rbPmsog95WP8M_QV5o5NaUGXhaQLrLLyv2TPKtVKjqS2EODIgkWfftER0mtwFefvhY6w7QHMUpVOuZCQ2pKPShSPB28G1eswsCQU-JWZ9GmED2_LzTu5JO/s320/Champ5.JPG" /></a></p><p align="center"><p align="left">Once in the woods, I found a lot of mushrooms. Unfortunately, most of them were poisonous. Martine could point out right away whether or not they were edible, and had an excellent eye for spotting the little guys. The mushrooms we were looking for were <em>les cèpes</em>, and she found the first one. She found three more before I found my first (and only) one, but it was gorgeous! We didn’t find any more cèpes after that, but we did find wild apples and collected a few. We drove around a bit more and found all sorts of goodies on the side of the road. We found a walnut tree (which may or may not have been private), blackberries, and wild pears!<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Vw6wQnbEmNnjvzaWKN_sI6rbPmsog95WP8M_QV5o5NaUGXhaQLrLLyv2TPKtVKjqS2EODIgkWfftER0mtwFefvhY6w7QHMUpVOuZCQ2pKPShSPB28G1eswsCQU-JWZ9GmED2_LzTu5JO/s1600/Champ5.JPG"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnARt8xdCZesVe2Vjb6VoRnUWONI2dzmAlJnl7viabAXZLtDp7w8Wl36KO8T3uqIOAP1c49rwc8Y83dJMPGEcKQj4f5PJXlVBkB2uEha7Qu4I-LZNFnTLixcgEREO4lSkg6yf2TP9jCoZD/s1600/Champ6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386633612289986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnARt8xdCZesVe2Vjb6VoRnUWONI2dzmAlJnl7viabAXZLtDp7w8Wl36KO8T3uqIOAP1c49rwc8Y83dJMPGEcKQj4f5PJXlVBkB2uEha7Qu4I-LZNFnTLixcgEREO4lSkg6yf2TP9jCoZD/s320/Champ6.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgR2bJoQbMBVd5QDmGqBQKPL6hyphenhypheny3HANYxYden7ilAzSfuBoc0ReDt29d7skKpkuyOIo3svUlwZ045IviOP5AlGZWiw4zhTE8Gervmzzo8hz1q5b9mFBbjwnn6Xm9lLNRgkMkuGgWseZo/s1600/Champ9.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386233922795554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgR2bJoQbMBVd5QDmGqBQKPL6hyphenhypheny3HANYxYden7ilAzSfuBoc0ReDt29d7skKpkuyOIo3svUlwZ045IviOP5AlGZWiw4zhTE8Gervmzzo8hz1q5b9mFBbjwnn6Xm9lLNRgkMkuGgWseZo/s320/Champ9.JPG" /></a></p><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElpkNoFBjjSsG-qCUjn772Q59ehAZiAUbJAop9JrbY5eCTYFtWCRngLgvjN7BOPR9oKmv9u55z3heVAshJIAsEq4gov84dTu-bkeEb7qzPaiRB7PkYkylSFdIlGQhH8qGMTxNkE1IWCiw/s1600/Champ7.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386237075943314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElpkNoFBjjSsG-qCUjn772Q59ehAZiAUbJAop9JrbY5eCTYFtWCRngLgvjN7BOPR9oKmv9u55z3heVAshJIAsEq4gov84dTu-bkeEb7qzPaiRB7PkYkylSFdIlGQhH8qGMTxNkE1IWCiw/s320/Champ7.JPG" /></a></p><div>We returned back to her apartment with our bounty. We had just enough cèpes to serve them with dinner. Martine cooked a turkey leg with potatoes, and she sautéed the mushrooms in butter and garlic. She even threw together a quick apple tart. Ayumi and Pierre joined us for dinner as well. Good company, good food, <em>formidable</em>!<br /><br /></div><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRObof_R05w3qNKB4HOFiVxxvPMnre-eHKuuf1ywCeRFG4KmxyZ9u9ng-WAuO1uXb2ZT3lDzxfUFGtGtvWuyMnvt7ctT8fz0GE0lztktCzBYlCps9pqv05h7jIxkXMil9-RDtu9nj0m_i/s1600/Champ10.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386231350262642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRObof_R05w3qNKB4HOFiVxxvPMnre-eHKuuf1ywCeRFG4KmxyZ9u9ng-WAuO1uXb2ZT3lDzxfUFGtGtvWuyMnvt7ctT8fz0GE0lztktCzBYlCps9pqv05h7jIxkXMil9-RDtu9nj0m_i/s320/Champ10.JPG" /></a></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSgIaJsaC9ZfsLfjSeZcoL_-f__7T5jIAOKPft6mhwD_DSmwQh6OH9mnzRTsBEFkwDlDyC3GftOajYbLLYD7JjChF4M9VAP069i5dzMSHbH0obFiFI2-nCBL3vV1I8XIrEfFk-dkw3WYv/s1600/Champ11.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386228225366658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSgIaJsaC9ZfsLfjSeZcoL_-f__7T5jIAOKPft6mhwD_DSmwQh6OH9mnzRTsBEFkwDlDyC3GftOajYbLLYD7JjChF4M9VAP069i5dzMSHbH0obFiFI2-nCBL3vV1I8XIrEfFk-dkw3WYv/s320/Champ11.JPG" /></a></p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACX8-VoE0B5cKy4WWV6r5SbSKjyG_QJqDTWUFJyDot3ClZy5wG6hEiFh6fdyLWZLdUCd_uVeYDmaN5Y5D52UISYehEAobWlfbQE8bVpvCAGAV-8r4TZmrJSHK6y03b4T1WCZnw1KHgclH/s1600/Champ12.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522386227592018530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACX8-VoE0B5cKy4WWV6r5SbSKjyG_QJqDTWUFJyDot3ClZy5wG6hEiFh6fdyLWZLdUCd_uVeYDmaN5Y5D52UISYehEAobWlfbQE8bVpvCAGAV-8r4TZmrJSHK6y03b4T1WCZnw1KHgclH/s320/Champ12.JPG" /></a> </div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-88570836815166795342010-09-27T04:54:00.000-07:002010-09-27T04:56:51.459-07:00Bien VivreMy host mom, Barbara, ironed ALL my clothes (including my jeans and pajamas) yesterday, and in the evening she showed me how to make a soufflé. Could life be any better?Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-17932301897172321342010-09-24T08:33:00.000-07:002010-09-24T09:49:17.407-07:00Soirées<div align="left">Martine and her friends enjoy having dinner parties from time to time, but rather than slaving away in the kitchen preparing extravagant meals, they keep it simple. The first get-together was a <em>Soirée Crêpe</em>. We went over to Martine's friend's house, Laticia, who owns a Maxi Crêpe! It's a large electric griddle with seven circular indents on the surface for making the crêpes. It's placed in the middle of the dining table surrounded by all the toppings. First we made <em>crêpes salées</em> with chevre, ham, and gruyere (if I remember correctly...it was awhile ago). Each person is given a little wodden spatula to flip and remove their crêpes. As soon as they're removed, Laticia would add more batter to our divet. As we ate, we'd also be flipping and adding toppings to our crêpes on the Maxi Crêpe. Halfway through we switched to <em>crêpes sucrée</em>. We had honey, brown sugar, butter, chestnut spread, peanut butter (!), nutella, and jam for toppings. My personal favorite was Breton style: honey, brown sugar, and butter.<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSh7xX2_qT9_W35Ep6hNg4Q5uXLRW5hG0dZbX2mpR8ATYOkT6tWmPVqqoCdPnm-c9lv6SxLPPQ186KXov1TdY0NJjPEI4QRyz6UdrEJDN6W7RdLtVDFGH-ycETRT2DIBJLCIxRLg5vJYiU/s1600/Soiree1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520509265221990242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSh7xX2_qT9_W35Ep6hNg4Q5uXLRW5hG0dZbX2mpR8ATYOkT6tWmPVqqoCdPnm-c9lv6SxLPPQ186KXov1TdY0NJjPEI4QRyz6UdrEJDN6W7RdLtVDFGH-ycETRT2DIBJLCIxRLg5vJYiU/s320/Soiree1.jpg" /></a><br />Laticia and her Maxi Crêpe</p><div align="left">The second gathering was last night. Barbara hosted a <em>Soirée Raclette</em> and invited Martine, Ayumi, Laticia, and Laticia's daughter, Valentine. Barbara owns an electric raclette, also known as a raclonette. The raclonette is an electric griddle with two layers. On the first layer, there are slots for six little wedge shaped spatulas. You put your cheese on the spatula and then put the spatula on the hot raclonette to melt it. The top layer is also hot and you can put anything up there that you want to cook or keep warm. Barbara placed a dish of potatoes on her's. A special cheese is used for the raclette called <em>fromage à raclette</em>. While your cheese is melting you pile your plate full of charcuterie and potatoes, and then dribble the melted cheese over everything. Everyone eats four or five pieces of cheese, so there is a constant cycle of cheese melting and then eating a little.<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8e51JMHrlt2fuMoUM8nvQuIwGNao73Bj2cFsPzCOvGmhrLFVx9bQE7QAagu3rSznxxRtEIINlLkpWk0e-3NLk7ko04If0tV6kiaJzDjGKKPHSRyO6khy5ntVvHRJVAh0SMw8UqdAQ3Zk/s1600/Soiree2.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520509259456299954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8e51JMHrlt2fuMoUM8nvQuIwGNao73Bj2cFsPzCOvGmhrLFVx9bQE7QAagu3rSznxxRtEIINlLkpWk0e-3NLk7ko04If0tV6kiaJzDjGKKPHSRyO6khy5ntVvHRJVAh0SMw8UqdAQ3Zk/s320/Soiree2.jpg" /></a><br />The raclette électrique or raclonette with cheese melting on the spatulas and the potatoes being kept warm on top.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAcKPOntISb5cw4srypXvIfDiF76QieiHaSuUop27AWMPpgtXdh2THiLfV4CJ4sdOOAK9VpPAapDDhBi8aMeCpPzWxtzL-BbxEvDiT8DBMokIWK9RWw85YIqeq3w1qrcb5qbEuwZT8fv3z/s1600/Soiree3.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520509253125451810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAcKPOntISb5cw4srypXvIfDiF76QieiHaSuUop27AWMPpgtXdh2THiLfV4CJ4sdOOAK9VpPAapDDhBi8aMeCpPzWxtzL-BbxEvDiT8DBMokIWK9RWw85YIqeq3w1qrcb5qbEuwZT8fv3z/s320/Soiree3.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center">My plate with charcuterie, potatoes covered in the melted cheese, and more slices of cheese waiting to be melted.</div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-28376030887967659102010-09-24T08:04:00.000-07:002010-09-27T05:05:17.646-07:00There's Always a Mushroom Around the Corner<div align="left">The last couple weeks were really hectic with arriving at the farm and then leaving the farm only a week later. On top of that, I returned to Martine’s, but knew I couldn’t stay there and had to find a new family...stressful. Martine didn’t have room for me for another four weeks because while I was there the first time, I was actually sleeping in Martine’s room. She slept on the couch in the salon for six weeks. (Don’t ask me the details of why this was the situation because it was explained to me on my first day in France, and I really didn’t understand.) So when I returned, she was happy to have me back but could only host me until I found a new family. Luckily, she had a friend/colleague, Barbara, who also takes foreign students and didn’t have anyone at the moment. Barbara sounded great, but the apartment was 30 minutes on foot from the school! It sounded rough compared to the five minute walk I had from Martine’s. To my surprise, Martine told me that she had a bike “<em>dans la cave</em>” that I could borrow for the three weeks that I would be at Barbara’s. I was totally excited. I could get to and from school quickly and get around the city more freely.<br /><br />Martine also said that we would go mushroom hunting <em>à la forêt</em> the next Sunday which had me equally excited. Over the last month, Martine had been recounting stories of mushroom hunting to Ayumi and me. We were practically drooling every time she mentioned <em>les cèpes</em>, and we had been pouring over her mushroom books. (Yes, Martine owns two books on mushroom hunting.<br /><br />I couldn’t have been happier, but then Friday came. The muffler of Martine’s car fell off and broke in two, and the turning signal stopped working. She tried to fix it Saturday morning, but alas, she couldn’t get the parts she needed until Monday. That meant no mushroom hunting. On top of that, she had been speaking with Barbara. To our surprise Barbara said there was no place to store the bike at her apartment, and it couldn’t be left outside because theft is too big of a problem. I was totally heartbroken. No mushrooms and no bike. On top of that I was feeling more and more anxious about moving to a new family.<br /><br />I realized though that this is the way most things work out here. It’s always dangerous to get your hopes up and get too excited about something because things don’t always turn out as intended. I think the French really enjoy the journey, and it’s only a bonus if you make it to the finish line. And where’s the finish line anyways? More often than not, the end result isn’t what was originally planned, but it’s usually just as good, if not better.<br /><br />Rather than going mushroom hunting, Martine, Pierre, Ayumi, and I sat down to Sunday lunch. This in itself was enough to lift the spirits a bit. We ate fish wrapped in bacon, sautéed cabbage, and baked potatoes. Halfway through, Martine’s mother called saying she had a giant spider in her kitchen and didn’t know what to do! She, Martine, and Pierre are deathly afraid of spiders, so Ayumi and I offered to dispose of it. Just like that we had an invitation for coffee with Martine’s mom! I love Martine’s mother. She’s full of energy, tells funny stories, and speaks really fast French. We also hadn’t seen the apartment since we helped her move a month before.<br />To make a long story even longer, the coffee was great, the spider not too large, and the apartment was magnificent. I still had no bike, but Sunday afternoon was <em>formidable</em>, and there’s always next weekend for mushrooms!</div><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8AV5jlSXP81xdicgMmOWlOlyUdCaj8HeTv_VD_79-IrLjpyYOhETXqmw24Jrx7tLkI6iSWWX3PgCUwCvl9sNrMMzQ83w2GwsW_a_b66ccVJtn4nMcH8MNIy_tW3qgsjAJXaQGITEfOzL/s1600/Mere1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497480017041378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8AV5jlSXP81xdicgMmOWlOlyUdCaj8HeTv_VD_79-IrLjpyYOhETXqmw24Jrx7tLkI6iSWWX3PgCUwCvl9sNrMMzQ83w2GwsW_a_b66ccVJtn4nMcH8MNIy_tW3qgsjAJXaQGITEfOzL/s320/Mere1.JPG" /></a><br />The apartment of Martine's mom</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jgkWu852ybZJVJZxWh67Q3_O9wEw7LnF8fbVcm22CR2SUeLW2JVp2p3uuSHeiRmEnPC9ODjo44f6SVOQ36KurqtgJ-IJJBTUPqjTDBo5lANj40N4tTwJxNq-Fdiarck980dIXHULJqSf/s1600/Mere2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497473147925586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jgkWu852ybZJVJZxWh67Q3_O9wEw7LnF8fbVcm22CR2SUeLW2JVp2p3uuSHeiRmEnPC9ODjo44f6SVOQ36KurqtgJ-IJJBTUPqjTDBo5lANj40N4tTwJxNq-Fdiarck980dIXHULJqSf/s320/Mere2.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">The gigantic old front door</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxB0cHubCV4YCjfF_MwA6yRaYF6Vl2AZCzpeqPCo0JgfY8MErYiv_KpGHGxHyacGe_ys_Zwy0PcAThRFbfPBiMd9qHQZO4WCtT1C697E72llH1_B88Z-716Nrdj730BVitpoKtsEQo3Jh/s1600/Mere3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497464982875026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxB0cHubCV4YCjfF_MwA6yRaYF6Vl2AZCzpeqPCo0JgfY8MErYiv_KpGHGxHyacGe_ys_Zwy0PcAThRFbfPBiMd9qHQZO4WCtT1C697E72llH1_B88Z-716Nrdj730BVitpoKtsEQo3Jh/s320/Mere3.JPG" /></a><br />Twisty and narrow staircase that all of Martine's mom's belongings were carried up when she moved, including the gigantic buffet.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV4xFJ05t7YRtJHAQbkhs3Vl9veeqifoJUMLypRyl_1JIOiYUlYQg7Gz93a9hCCWf83BEIcSYCLSCioWihllIDvd2TnPoK2QxXTO4xPeSY8qA23WvDyQk4eYEiMc7d78OuURlmFhFRY3nQ/s1600/Mere4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497467359763682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV4xFJ05t7YRtJHAQbkhs3Vl9veeqifoJUMLypRyl_1JIOiYUlYQg7Gz93a9hCCWf83BEIcSYCLSCioWihllIDvd2TnPoK2QxXTO4xPeSY8qA23WvDyQk4eYEiMc7d78OuURlmFhFRY3nQ/s320/Mere4.JPG" /></a> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3s3wnHCNL_OjUkjR1DFciRqTkkBbFn3eVyPcAlzRqjihSZ2Gt2X-O57TaLCc_oQRlPp0fAP9hiwjx3nasyt72Hy9LG-bVMMmjrTaZ-c28avvIKceBQ1tF3oUHPLyhYE2fXbpa4i8C-wUB/s1600/Mere5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497458224535586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3s3wnHCNL_OjUkjR1DFciRqTkkBbFn3eVyPcAlzRqjihSZ2Gt2X-O57TaLCc_oQRlPp0fAP9hiwjx3nasyt72Hy9LG-bVMMmjrTaZ-c28avvIKceBQ1tF3oUHPLyhYE2fXbpa4i8C-wUB/s320/Mere5.JPG" /></a><br />Most of the paintings on the walls were done by Martine.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUChaAXFWbWMTXRtQUc27Nz0UtioYvRjFAWhyJlaf2Spo-X5IiESP_SLB-B2GQ-fhKBpd-LfJM9ZuUXbmoALLF1r6ZZi3v5cBRjCYvAY6qN-O2SLQefe899wQXPKwZGRvlXB92ys02Jvk4/s1600/Mere6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497066483770098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUChaAXFWbWMTXRtQUc27Nz0UtioYvRjFAWhyJlaf2Spo-X5IiESP_SLB-B2GQ-fhKBpd-LfJM9ZuUXbmoALLF1r6ZZi3v5cBRjCYvAY6qN-O2SLQefe899wQXPKwZGRvlXB92ys02Jvk4/s320/Mere6.JPG" /></a><br />The huge and ancient buffet</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutYPEy0miX6qnc6xBpV-4G8UiOYKW4WSv9SPJOjdmvMTRkJ41Q-C0hjVh5oPvO_o776XCd70VuI8WOwkcJrRZ1zIsfG3Oj7kYi-ai9Soqihs7hUR386C9yECDiCiKClOnG1QnXRY8Y341/s1600/Mere7.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497064647817698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutYPEy0miX6qnc6xBpV-4G8UiOYKW4WSv9SPJOjdmvMTRkJ41Q-C0hjVh5oPvO_o776XCd70VuI8WOwkcJrRZ1zIsfG3Oj7kYi-ai9Soqihs7hUR386C9yECDiCiKClOnG1QnXRY8Y341/s320/Mere7.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8H7xcyomhOH8kzUJMcK9mvk3zLmstK_000OzvsXzJ8GB2lc5d60M9Rdt3JF_wqQDSOojbZJRwoZANaM-8t9PhAB1qoyJsmeUQocvDXKETKxxKB1rr2SegovZQZNmFT644FJ-wqHhy7Q7q/s1600/Mere8.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497056979759218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8H7xcyomhOH8kzUJMcK9mvk3zLmstK_000OzvsXzJ8GB2lc5d60M9Rdt3JF_wqQDSOojbZJRwoZANaM-8t9PhAB1qoyJsmeUQocvDXKETKxxKB1rr2SegovZQZNmFT644FJ-wqHhy7Q7q/s320/Mere8.JPG" /></a> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_amgofW-4RNjcOliXvlljTtZk5_H9C2i48yUtZlRfwjRyhcsgZdyrXAgxMbiwNl4hRMnA9FngvdmfQSNiwVUL70toTun1k8liOcXb2q20Fn5vtXGu12tpqbG7ElxNLSqlZ6mHbaqeqNHg/s1600/Mere9.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497054935292930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_amgofW-4RNjcOliXvlljTtZk5_H9C2i48yUtZlRfwjRyhcsgZdyrXAgxMbiwNl4hRMnA9FngvdmfQSNiwVUL70toTun1k8liOcXb2q20Fn5vtXGu12tpqbG7ElxNLSqlZ6mHbaqeqNHg/s320/Mere9.JPG" /></a> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJd1gWhqHWQoygfk7WXKgC9KJQ87RPoddp-6nidqyPOit2Ec0MsaCmEomck_osbgbgTY1Kyn89tTDu9G9bcCrrDT3tXUf6UnqCjTkBKwG6LD117G8XMAN05zVf6p7ZoIg40ueYC-EN74VN/s1600/Mere10.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520497044620233682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJd1gWhqHWQoygfk7WXKgC9KJQ87RPoddp-6nidqyPOit2Ec0MsaCmEomck_osbgbgTY1Kyn89tTDu9G9bcCrrDT3tXUf6UnqCjTkBKwG6LD117G8XMAN05zVf6p7ZoIg40ueYC-EN74VN/s320/Mere10.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">Martine and her mom </div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-72860452099866612882010-09-24T07:01:00.000-07:002010-09-24T07:02:49.742-07:00Levi’s & WranglersThe minute I returned to civilization after the farm, I went shopping (évidemment). I think I was feeling deprived of all the glitz and glamour of a city, especially after being covered in animal poo for seven days. I bought a long tunic/dress that is all the rage in Tours right now, but it must be worn with skinny jeans or leggings. What was I to do? Bien sûr, I went out and bought myself a new pair of jeans! It was a good thing too because I ended up buying another tunic/dress that I adore, but I swear it’s totally different from the first one. Anyways, back to the jeans... I went to the department store called Galleries Lafayette. I love this store for the sole reason that they have rows and rows of scarves for sale. As I made my way to the jeans section, I couldn’t believe it, but there was a whole display devoted to Wranglers! They are not only sold in France, but in department stores, and they have a larger display than Levi’s. And yes, Levi’s are sold in France too.<br /><br />Perhaps it’s not like this everywhere in the states, but I’ve never seen Wranglers in a department store. When I lived in Colorado, I knew that if I wanted a pair, I had to go to the local farmer’s store. The jeans would be found somewhere in between the animal feed and the wheelbarrows. I explained this to Ayumi who thought it was hilarious because Wranglers are sold in department stores in Japan too. Maybe we’re all missing out in The States. The best part of the experience was that I ended up buying a pair of Levi’s...in France. How ironic.Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-36393522535945902732010-09-15T09:56:00.000-07:002010-09-15T10:22:09.810-07:00Tours - My Home Away from Home<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">I'm</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">back</span> in Tours, and I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">really</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">feel</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">like</span> I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">made</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">the</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">best</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">decision</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">return</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">My</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">classmates</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">were</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">surprised</span>, but <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">excited</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error">see</span> me <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tuesday</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error">morning</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" class="blsp-spelling-error">They</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error">were</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" class="blsp-spelling-error">all</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_23" class="blsp-spelling-error">eager</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_24" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_25" class="blsp-spelling-error">hear</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_26" class="blsp-spelling-error">what</span> I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_27" class="blsp-spelling-error">did</span> <em>à la ferme</em>, and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_28" class="blsp-spelling-error">I've</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_29" class="blsp-spelling-error">picked</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_30" class="blsp-spelling-error">up</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_31" class="blsp-spelling-error">the</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_32" class="blsp-spelling-error">nickname</span> <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_33" class="blsp-spelling-error">Annie</span> de la Compagne</em>. I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_34" class="blsp-spelling-error">went</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_35" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_36" class="blsp-spelling-error">my</span> favorite Boulangerie, <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_37" class="blsp-spelling-error">Hardouin</span></em>, for lunch and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_38" class="blsp-spelling-error">ate</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_39" class="blsp-spelling-error">my</span> favorite <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_40" class="blsp-spelling-error">sandwhich</span> - <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_41" class="blsp-spelling-error">mozzarella</span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_42" class="blsp-spelling-error">sun-dried</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_43" class="blsp-spelling-error">tomato</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_44" class="blsp-spelling-error">with</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_45" class="blsp-spelling-error">the</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_46" class="blsp-spelling-error">best</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_47" class="blsp-spelling-error">bread</span> I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_48" class="blsp-spelling-error">think</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_49" class="blsp-spelling-error">I've</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_50" class="blsp-spelling-error">ever</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_51" class="blsp-spelling-error">eaten</span>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLtnCsKwmfO0Xp4dxkpb_MTV9-PITI9KjvFkxWy6vSVctYVPth0mVDeMFKgBJk1YSo-D-0oUfds-unGD0XAlDwziC1xbW0198y3FFlKKxyBShbDE1U3wJGe8MJ-iWb2dcQgmAAyErCY84W/s1600/Hardouin.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517191655110618482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLtnCsKwmfO0Xp4dxkpb_MTV9-PITI9KjvFkxWy6vSVctYVPth0mVDeMFKgBJk1YSo-D-0oUfds-unGD0XAlDwziC1xbW0198y3FFlKKxyBShbDE1U3wJGe8MJ-iWb2dcQgmAAyErCY84W/s320/Hardouin.jpg" /></a></p><br />I came <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_52" class="blsp-spelling-error">back</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_53" class="blsp-spelling-error">just</span> in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_54" class="blsp-spelling-error">time</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_55" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_56" class="blsp-spelling-error">celebrate</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_57" class="blsp-spelling-error">Martine's</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_58" class="blsp-spelling-error">birthday</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_59" class="blsp-spelling-error">yesterday</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_60" class="blsp-spelling-error">What</span> a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_61" class="blsp-spelling-error">treat</span>! I gave <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_62" class="blsp-spelling-error">her</span> a jar <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_63" class="blsp-spelling-error">of</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_64" class="blsp-spelling-error">dried</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_65" class="blsp-spelling-error">tomatoes</span> in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_66" class="blsp-spelling-error">oil</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_67" class="blsp-spelling-error">that</span> I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_68" class="blsp-spelling-error">made</span> on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_69" class="blsp-spelling-error">the</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_70" class="blsp-spelling-error">farm</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_71" class="blsp-spelling-error">Martine</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_72" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ayumi</span>, and I have <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_73" class="blsp-spelling-error">already</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_74" class="blsp-spelling-error">made</span> plans <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_75" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> go <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_76" class="blsp-spelling-error">mushroom</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_77" class="blsp-spelling-error">hunting</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_78" class="blsp-spelling-error">this</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_79" class="blsp-spelling-error">weekend</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_80" class="blsp-spelling-error">Wish</span> us <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_81" class="blsp-spelling-error">luck</span>! <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_82" class="blsp-spelling-error">We're</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_83" class="blsp-spelling-error">hoping</span> for a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_84" class="blsp-spelling-error">good</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_85" class="blsp-spelling-error">harvest</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_86" class="blsp-spelling-error">because</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_87" class="blsp-spelling-error">it</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_88" class="blsp-spelling-error">was</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_89" class="blsp-spelling-error">hot</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_90" class="blsp-spelling-error">yesterday</span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_91" class="blsp-spelling-error">it</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_92" class="blsp-spelling-error">poured</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_93" class="blsp-spelling-error">today</span> - <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_94" class="blsp-spelling-error">perfect</span> conditions for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_95" class="blsp-spelling-error">mushrooms</span>.<br /><br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_96" class="blsp-spelling-error">I've</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_97" class="blsp-spelling-error">found</span> a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_98" class="blsp-spelling-error">new</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_99" class="blsp-spelling-error">host</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_100" class="blsp-spelling-error">mom</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_101" class="blsp-spelling-error">Barbara</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_102" class="blsp-spelling-error">She</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_103" class="blsp-spelling-error">happens</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_104" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_105" class="blsp-spelling-error">be</span> a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_106" class="blsp-spelling-error">friend</span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_107" class="blsp-spelling-error">colleague</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_108" class="blsp-spelling-error">of</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_109" class="blsp-spelling-error">Martine's</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_110" class="blsp-spelling-error">Martine</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_111" class="blsp-spelling-error">recommended</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_112" class="blsp-spelling-error">her</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_113" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> me, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_114" class="blsp-spelling-error">so</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_115" class="blsp-spelling-error">I'm</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_116" class="blsp-spelling-error">hoping</span> for a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_117" class="blsp-spelling-error">good</span> match. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_118" class="blsp-spelling-error">Barbara</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_119" class="blsp-spelling-error">also</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_120" class="blsp-spelling-error">has</span> a 15 <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_121" class="blsp-spelling-error">year</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_122" class="blsp-spelling-error">old</span> son, and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_123" class="blsp-spelling-error">the</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_124" class="blsp-spelling-error">two</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_125" class="blsp-spelling-error">apparently</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_126" class="blsp-spelling-error">like</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_127" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_128" class="blsp-spelling-error">talk</span> a lot <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_129" class="blsp-spelling-error">which</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_130" class="blsp-spelling-error">means</span> I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_131" class="blsp-spelling-error">will</span> have a lot <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_132" class="blsp-spelling-error">of</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_133" class="blsp-spelling-error">practice</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_134" class="blsp-spelling-error">with</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_135" class="blsp-spelling-error">my</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_136" class="blsp-spelling-error">French</span>. Pierre and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_137" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ayumi</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_138" class="blsp-spelling-error">both</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_139" class="blsp-spelling-error">know</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_140" class="blsp-spelling-error">Barbara</span> and gave <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_141" class="blsp-spelling-error">her</span> a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_142" class="blsp-spelling-error">good</span> report as <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_143" class="blsp-spelling-error">well</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_144" class="blsp-spelling-error">I'll</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_145" class="blsp-spelling-error">probably</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_146" class="blsp-spelling-error">make</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_147" class="blsp-spelling-error">the</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_148" class="blsp-spelling-error">move</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_149" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_150" class="blsp-spelling-error">Barbara's</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_151" class="blsp-spelling-error">this</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_152" class="blsp-spelling-error">weekend</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_153" class="blsp-spelling-error">I'll</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_154" class="blsp-spelling-error">be</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_155" class="blsp-spelling-error">really</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_156" class="blsp-spelling-error">sad</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_157" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_158" class="blsp-spelling-error">leave</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_159" class="blsp-spelling-error">Martine</span> (<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_160" class="blsp-spelling-error">again</span>), but <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_161" class="blsp-spelling-error">at</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_162" class="blsp-spelling-error">least</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_163" class="blsp-spelling-error">I'm</span> in Tours, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_164" class="blsp-spelling-error">which</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_165" class="blsp-spelling-error">has</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_166" class="blsp-spelling-error">become</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_167" class="blsp-spelling-error">my</span> home <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_168" class="blsp-spelling-error">away</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_169" class="blsp-spelling-error">from</span> home. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_170" class="blsp-spelling-error">She</span> lives a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_171" class="blsp-spelling-error">little</span> far <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_172" class="blsp-spelling-error">from</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_173" class="blsp-spelling-error">the</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_174" class="blsp-spelling-error">school</span>, 30 minutes on foot (<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_175" class="blsp-spelling-error">I've</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_176" class="blsp-spelling-error">been</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_177" class="blsp-spelling-error">spoiled</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_178" class="blsp-spelling-error">at</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_179" class="blsp-spelling-error">Martine's</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_180" class="blsp-spelling-error">with</span> 5 minutes on foot), but <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_181" class="blsp-spelling-error">Martine</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_182" class="blsp-spelling-error">said</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_183" class="blsp-spelling-error">she</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_184" class="blsp-spelling-error">has</span> a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_185" class="blsp-spelling-error">bike</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_186" class="blsp-spelling-error">that</span> I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_187" class="blsp-spelling-error">can</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_188" class="blsp-spelling-error">borrow</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_189" class="blsp-spelling-error">All</span> I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_190" class="blsp-spelling-error">need</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_191" class="blsp-spelling-error">now</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_192" class="blsp-spelling-error">is</span> a baguette <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_193" class="blsp-spelling-error">strapped</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_194" class="blsp-spelling-error">to</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_195" class="blsp-spelling-error">the</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_196" class="blsp-spelling-error">back</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_197" class="blsp-spelling-error">of</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_198" class="blsp-spelling-error">the</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_199" class="blsp-spelling-error">bike</span>, and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_200" class="blsp-spelling-error">I'll</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_201" class="blsp-spelling-error">be</span> a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_202" class="blsp-spelling-error">real</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_203" class="blsp-spelling-error">French</span> girl. If <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_204" class="blsp-spelling-error">I'm</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_205" class="blsp-spelling-error">lucky</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_206" class="blsp-spelling-error">it'll</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_207" class="blsp-spelling-error">be</span> a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_208" class="blsp-spelling-error">classic</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_209" class="blsp-spelling-error">Peugot</span>!Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-65986055516694771082010-09-15T09:08:00.000-07:002010-09-15T09:54:52.033-07:00Je Reviens à Tours!<div align="left">Written Monday afternoon...<br /><br />Well I’ve had a bit of a change of plans. I’m going back to Tours! The farm was great the first few days, and really, the family was very nice, welcoming, and laid back. On the third or fourth day though, I dug potatoes out of the ground for four hours. For the average person, this wouldn’t be a big deal, but it was too much for my back. I did NOT feel good that evening, and I still wasn’t doing that great the next day. Then my hamstring started aching, and I got a little worried. If I had really liked the family I may have tried to work something out with them, but then the chaos hit.<br /><br />The family’s eleven year old basset hound, Lillie, fell down the stairs in the middle of the night and paralyzed her back end. She could only walk by dragging her back legs behind her. Stuart took her to the vet. The news was not good, but they hoped with a little rest she may improve a bit. The diagnosis was something like a slipped disc in her vertebrae that was pushing on a nerve causing the loss of mobility. The family was heartbroken. When they checked up on her after a couple days it was apparent that she was not doing well and were going to have to decide whether or not to put her down. Louisa brought Lille home for the weekend. She looked dreadful, but then again I think we all would after spending a couple days at the vet. Louisa broke down into tears shortly after bringing her home, and I was the only one around to try to comfort her. If Lille did need to be put down, I felt like the family needed to be alone to mourn. This was feeling less and less like a vacation.<br /><br />On top of that, the work at the farm became more and more frustrating. I think this family may be the most unorganized I have ever met. Everything on the farm was set up haphazardly, although, some of this was out of their control. For instance, the two pregnant sows were delivered a month early, and the two holding pens were only 75% complete. There are concrete blocks in the pens that the sows are constantly knocking over, and one of them doesn’t have a solid gate. She has escaped a few times, one of which being my second day. It was an interesting initiation to the farm, having to herd a 200 pound pig.<br /><br />Nothing on the farm was ever put back in the same place. It was always a challenge to find a feed bucket, and some of the tasks I was given had no rhyme or reason to them. This morning was a perfect example. I had the task of wheel-barrowing buckets of water to the donkeys because, for some reason, Louisa didn’t want to move them over to the daytime field with a giant pond and lots of shade. Finding the hose was a task in itself. The donkeys, of course, drank all the water instantly after I brought it, so we ended up moving the donkeys over to the field with the pond and shade anyways...<br /><br />A farm is understandably a dirty place, but I think the farmhouse should be clean. This farmhouse was downright dirty. After a few days, I couldn’t stand the thought of walking on the floor with bare feet. The kitchen towels were greasy to the touch. Dishes were constantly piling up and “soaking” in dirty greasy water. The bathtub was always filthy and wasn’t cleaned after being used to wash mucky sheep’s fleece. I could keep going...<br /><br />I found myself feeling anxious, my energy level dropped, and I was having a hard time imagining two more weeks of this. The most serious issue was my aching body, and the next location scheduled was another volunteer position doing more manual labor. The answer was obvious. I decided I'd go back to Tours and continue learning French at Tours Langues. I loved it there, and I missed all my friends. I missed speaking French too! On the farm, we only spoke English and opportunities to speak French with the locals were not that often. I contacted Martine yesterday right after I woke up. She responded the same afternoon telling me to return <em>tout de suite</em>! I even cried a little when I received her email and voicemail telling me to hurry back! She unfortunately doesn’t have the space for me again, but I will be able to stay with her until I find a new host family. The school has already contacted me and I’m set up to resume classes on Tuesday. I’m sitting on the train right now headed to Tours, and I feel so much better. I’m looking forward to another month in the Loire Valley!<br /><br />I should point out that there were some great things about the farm. As I said before, the family was great. They went out of their way to make me welcome, and Louisa even wanted to set up outings for me to visit some of her French friends to work on my language. The food was delicious. Louisa was a great cook. We ate coq au vin one night that was made from one of the roosters on the farm, and there was always a bounty of freshly picked fruits and vegetables. I had the opportunity to do things I’ve never done before. Feeding and taking care of the animals was a treat and really fun (except for being head butted by Rosie the goat). I know more about animal poo than I ever thought I would! I even got to see a day old chick this morning. I really enjoyed the time I was able to spend with Louisa in the kitchen making jam, soups, and drying tomatoes. The kids were a bit exhausting at times, but also fun to watch and play with. On the whole, it was an interesting and rich experience that I will never forget!<br /><br /><br />Here are my favorite photos from the farm:<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7XM6w7MaWWhNg2nJYHq44pfoy631Y_ZdZiUcalmC2SwIl6fxOrtaTIekx4MM9Vhsbb140k9PVCvOeQYdvolPoIlbP2-XkZiUzGkLPaU7uI8sswOjZSiVDK7X23Ij1Nz6mLusDc8JbpxY/s1600/Farm1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517174257345217138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7XM6w7MaWWhNg2nJYHq44pfoy631Y_ZdZiUcalmC2SwIl6fxOrtaTIekx4MM9Vhsbb140k9PVCvOeQYdvolPoIlbP2-XkZiUzGkLPaU7uI8sswOjZSiVDK7X23Ij1Nz6mLusDc8JbpxY/s320/Farm1.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">Johnny Dep was headed for the pot but is now a permanent pet on the farm due to the pleading of a previous volunteer. He lives with Girtty the goose.<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tLWmvA3e2-lz4nXXcYItkV62UBJ2nv5OE9DoJoDM1Y3UZe51zDAkKMiQwbRjRXbuN4cDzcEyzP2kAg-Y-KSiAZNm1BxYb3YicZHZ9Zm-AUnzejjd1ZNv1sjlZjNUxE7W03b-xTrqOOPH/s1600/Farm2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517174254927718130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tLWmvA3e2-lz4nXXcYItkV62UBJ2nv5OE9DoJoDM1Y3UZe51zDAkKMiQwbRjRXbuN4cDzcEyzP2kAg-Y-KSiAZNm1BxYb3YicZHZ9Zm-AUnzejjd1ZNv1sjlZjNUxE7W03b-xTrqOOPH/s320/Farm2.JPG" /></a> </div><div align="center">Paxo jr. and the rest of the roosters </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIsf9jHJxmAqxlnOvGw1LxQaQuazdmt1WzHHS-WTpODa5KEH2WQQzqc9ih1I_rGI5hYXqwqKdYZYIy8d_RRKo272pDEqCn3tJF3F1h3nIqj3LXUoTXOnS_7p7ZNJFBq9JWq6OGj4NMH9t/s1600/Farm3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517174247512304562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIsf9jHJxmAqxlnOvGw1LxQaQuazdmt1WzHHS-WTpODa5KEH2WQQzqc9ih1I_rGI5hYXqwqKdYZYIy8d_RRKo272pDEqCn3tJF3F1h3nIqj3LXUoTXOnS_7p7ZNJFBq9JWq6OGj4NMH9t/s320/Farm3.JPG" /></a> </div><div align="center">Peg Leg and his black hen</div><div align="center">Poullet noir is highly sought after in France.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPF10zWRknPbzXqCfLQjHN9MP-g2Ipjg0atUpmUZhUbk_JqRAmZVqgHZga3Ail0UDF6GzN1KivPHY7ugxv-T1FoYht3ym0OF44ShvAwjqt1f67wJDg7mjf20LcsZ6UwEl179Tv_hO5A5C/s1600/Farm4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517174043580992370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPF10zWRknPbzXqCfLQjHN9MP-g2Ipjg0atUpmUZhUbk_JqRAmZVqgHZga3Ail0UDF6GzN1KivPHY7ugxv-T1FoYht3ym0OF44ShvAwjqt1f67wJDg7mjf20LcsZ6UwEl179Tv_hO5A5C/s320/Farm4.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">Les Couchons!<br />These pigs will all make a trip to the butcher before Christmas. They were the most fun animals to feed with their screeching squeals.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirmgUIXS8qaA1dDRMfCkizt83evCAd-w4TmI0rYN_UUvWYa0TUPmAKWH3kl3QmslK3Lq2vkkKJWts5xqcvF34jTlqENW_warTy-gTfAZpo_N8bw2KabQiLP7p8sU1gOTT-o7bUaszDhEcQ/s1600/Farm5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517174034664846258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirmgUIXS8qaA1dDRMfCkizt83evCAd-w4TmI0rYN_UUvWYa0TUPmAKWH3kl3QmslK3Lq2vkkKJWts5xqcvF34jTlqENW_warTy-gTfAZpo_N8bw2KabQiLP7p8sU1gOTT-o7bUaszDhEcQ/s320/Farm5.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">A happy pig waiting for the morning feed<br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1lhRuDktnh9gj332Bn2KadPY0Eh9US_thIODOFXTFz4_Cz4tbZ3lDCnClbJL5YCFgLxaGPk3PJHNsUeeE2Kq34gxAN6d3EVnXzHVSex_x6PG3NtV2xlnzQaT0h4pZQqDOsTqQCfnA_9R/s1600/Farm5a.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517174031285619362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1lhRuDktnh9gj332Bn2KadPY0Eh9US_thIODOFXTFz4_Cz4tbZ3lDCnClbJL5YCFgLxaGPk3PJHNsUeeE2Kq34gxAN6d3EVnXzHVSex_x6PG3NtV2xlnzQaT0h4pZQqDOsTqQCfnA_9R/s320/Farm5a.JPG" /></a><br />Piglets</div><div align="center">There were about twelve piglets on the farm. They will replace the bigger guys that are headed for the butcher.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXl_EYNy6NTKz0fkI1nC0MaSbVEa2yC3uQNOasJt233TBVUCivhxYexG5z9jrgSV3sFcw-beha4BKAc9uc_hooubiQZugaAqWH6axImdnoqhX3ALJ-szWn9V5WHd2BqDVPXEwV06q5wsbc/s1600/Farm6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517174025064896386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXl_EYNy6NTKz0fkI1nC0MaSbVEa2yC3uQNOasJt233TBVUCivhxYexG5z9jrgSV3sFcw-beha4BKAc9uc_hooubiQZugaAqWH6axImdnoqhX3ALJ-szWn9V5WHd2BqDVPXEwV06q5wsbc/s320/Farm6.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">Rosie (and Daisy in the background)<br />Rosie looks sweet but was constantly escaping and and really enjoyed head butting me.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlD1QvSoKBMdxFxSJp9HoLZG-i7U3NPvgHrC_ZUWIjI185-KJu0KfUsfiOkdVUSMmK2aru8Ie9xpDG3VDi2Z-vF6vk7uHo16KcbnkGj37U9ZmPiC8eZFbMd6zYzTxEdof_zVqtOxybJyPr/s1600/Farm7.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517174020310247298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlD1QvSoKBMdxFxSJp9HoLZG-i7U3NPvgHrC_ZUWIjI185-KJu0KfUsfiOkdVUSMmK2aru8Ie9xpDG3VDi2Z-vF6vk7uHo16KcbnkGj37U9ZmPiC8eZFbMd6zYzTxEdof_zVqtOxybJyPr/s320/Farm7.JPG" /></a> </div><div align="center">Cherry tomatoes<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcXoaX4Vfi_pFlknQe2BbJa-gDg3VcN3YVhDgqJlnCxhOMn42mm-sOKHOeJiEDAYZGzCTN0VQNOgQYEOFdkochYRxjRwYaqpG6mtZ751i0ZnwnTz-jlTgbyUhBB1lRueaG5uRmlTDxo6I/s1600/Farm8.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173697834379394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcXoaX4Vfi_pFlknQe2BbJa-gDg3VcN3YVhDgqJlnCxhOMn42mm-sOKHOeJiEDAYZGzCTN0VQNOgQYEOFdkochYRxjRwYaqpG6mtZ751i0ZnwnTz-jlTgbyUhBB1lRueaG5uRmlTDxo6I/s320/Farm8.JPG" /></a> </div><div align="center">More cherry tomatoes<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2bXPYLMt4KtLuerFY6-DrMwxQPGIiSFRInvUhEYdEleASWjOSo-mUBdIUMxHU8KSd3-lU1Cwihdc-rwLbI6LyFERnHsYYVAqKAoeFFz0Gf4zh8xE8aawzOqWGqeXVFUjuU64I2NHKy4L/s1600/Farm9.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173696130406370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2bXPYLMt4KtLuerFY6-DrMwxQPGIiSFRInvUhEYdEleASWjOSo-mUBdIUMxHU8KSd3-lU1Cwihdc-rwLbI6LyFERnHsYYVAqKAoeFFz0Gf4zh8xE8aawzOqWGqeXVFUjuU64I2NHKy4L/s320/Farm9.JPG" /></a><br />Pumpkin<br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlDfdUeMNR2y4HMzLHyE_LuADxfj30qvvDbdClOjN6bQOVAIkfawwIYsKkR_x6_VmEaeRxgLRwUVdOx86z-vI_8WgT_KNg1jJChwUhWik8ODfUhNPr7h1EFyRWIluynkaCRoSSYJUWAJT/s1600/Farm10.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173681743996082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlDfdUeMNR2y4HMzLHyE_LuADxfj30qvvDbdClOjN6bQOVAIkfawwIYsKkR_x6_VmEaeRxgLRwUVdOx86z-vI_8WgT_KNg1jJChwUhWik8ODfUhNPr7h1EFyRWIluynkaCRoSSYJUWAJT/s320/Farm10.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">The day's tomato, ruhbarb chard, and strawberry harvest<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPVtmqQWMQF3JQkuTUAMS7Qlv42pJbf5dbryve4_gLNWOwKF0kbDRiNWQurYOFV5RaqDCPw8asnmFXaijGKYav9bwSWi8vd-Rm8-qCg3CbeJbJNFqxz8yh_AS7uEuiUgrowOlk5YD_Cd3D/s1600/Farm11.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173674203958882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPVtmqQWMQF3JQkuTUAMS7Qlv42pJbf5dbryve4_gLNWOwKF0kbDRiNWQurYOFV5RaqDCPw8asnmFXaijGKYav9bwSWi8vd-Rm8-qCg3CbeJbJNFqxz8yh_AS7uEuiUgrowOlk5YD_Cd3D/s320/Farm11.JPG" /></a><br />Girtty the Goose - My favorite member of the farm.</div><div align="center">She's a permanent pet who waddles anywhere she pleases. She came up to me one day and nibbled softly on my arm. I took that to mean we were friends, and after that she let me pet her.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJR5Nj3UWmol_0PDh5I7iltWZMDPR5ocCIwbStpNBLR31Ls1p0-yjOtXqrUhezE4zV2qn5fRHvbw6nt0t1fzYUR5TK7eew8JVA9IQ47jG1kiHVeft8PlLUi1xKM_LdNDrhmRV3rKZWbQj/s1600/Farm12.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173668280034306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJR5Nj3UWmol_0PDh5I7iltWZMDPR5ocCIwbStpNBLR31Ls1p0-yjOtXqrUhezE4zV2qn5fRHvbw6nt0t1fzYUR5TK7eew8JVA9IQ47jG1kiHVeft8PlLUi1xKM_LdNDrhmRV3rKZWbQj/s320/Farm12.JPG" /></a><br />Toscar - One of three great "outdoor" dogs</div><div align="center">He may be trained to herd sheep at some point, but for the moment is tied up all day, every day.<br /></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzR9w_RCzVJpp41wM4BMPPeQ1wDTJn2V77u1jE_QdbVrsdmOJq8IIXrZyr7iV128GfxlXvFucU2jkDEaIDiF_lzm-FfIe2MnJi4A5aY-74SEwbkmRstd-BtycnJdh4uMySXhKiVkuiocl/s1600/Farm13.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173341339020290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbzR9w_RCzVJpp41wM4BMPPeQ1wDTJn2V77u1jE_QdbVrsdmOJq8IIXrZyr7iV128GfxlXvFucU2jkDEaIDiF_lzm-FfIe2MnJi4A5aY-74SEwbkmRstd-BtycnJdh4uMySXhKiVkuiocl/s320/Farm13.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">Pheonix (3) and Harmonie (4)<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNIhgs9a2KpDGgujkcXCAOu3ORHfb0OX3g5caioycFNbXm3QAwGvkwKcfuJL54Rwj5R6cHaVXFrZY7HxmdkB77kMD8Fagq3fcWHPHHF_p8pCT7U6__y6nS69uT63gZM340SIV0Qli6GObg/s1600/Farm14.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173338537829026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNIhgs9a2KpDGgujkcXCAOu3ORHfb0OX3g5caioycFNbXm3QAwGvkwKcfuJL54Rwj5R6cHaVXFrZY7HxmdkB77kMD8Fagq3fcWHPHHF_p8pCT7U6__y6nS69uT63gZM340SIV0Qli6GObg/s320/Farm14.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">Photo of Pheonix taken by Harmonie<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDoOCVRjhiwlz1BgqQbFzoX-Ff3JFvOj3Fzoz9vXnaEubDwl3p93RnlVus7LbxOftpYXSFwufmDMy0l-XJA9mPB0bhlFScZ0qzwt-inmVnrDudMLWJHFjiiywAkKelvgQkbRXYvfMIq82h/s1600/Farm15.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173330549345058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDoOCVRjhiwlz1BgqQbFzoX-Ff3JFvOj3Fzoz9vXnaEubDwl3p93RnlVus7LbxOftpYXSFwufmDMy0l-XJA9mPB0bhlFScZ0qzwt-inmVnrDudMLWJHFjiiywAkKelvgQkbRXYvfMIq82h/s320/Farm15.JPG" /></a><br />Baby chicks<br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuB4DLKWCTA9fcJRctjquVwzUN0Kab7zVKFNbzaU8C-b3iZAoo5iXqq8v2t1jgCt8YfpSKNJhejQRkprqZ6o2CQmpBTqCjNBW7LUNublqPyped74hl3vnGEbh89d9PVhbY6WU0ahQDHna/s1600/Farm16.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173314869238802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuB4DLKWCTA9fcJRctjquVwzUN0Kab7zVKFNbzaU8C-b3iZAoo5iXqq8v2t1jgCt8YfpSKNJhejQRkprqZ6o2CQmpBTqCjNBW7LUNublqPyped74hl3vnGEbh89d9PVhbY6WU0ahQDHna/s320/Farm16.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center">The five ducks on the right are called Indian Runners because of the way they walk upright. The two darker birds on the right think they're Indian Runners, so they're a pack of seven who always stick together.<br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJmYPLXOgE8vLkdovF9r-5lUOOe2I0-wjEn4KnGFdA8xoKjnfzY7akT2q768bzrPQLBwTY4RIISoQIsw705WQdVrSQWnQvq9TsKkylORr5dIsLxodaSsYOJloHqQdlJJlhvNByDq3S0jW/s1600/Farm17.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517173308056164370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJmYPLXOgE8vLkdovF9r-5lUOOe2I0-wjEn4KnGFdA8xoKjnfzY7akT2q768bzrPQLBwTY4RIISoQIsw705WQdVrSQWnQvq9TsKkylORr5dIsLxodaSsYOJloHqQdlJJlhvNByDq3S0jW/s320/Farm17.JPG" /></a><br />One of the roosters</div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-56425637838455779752010-09-11T13:25:00.000-07:002010-09-11T13:41:33.779-07:00Sheep Devil<div align="left">Yesterday was a rather hectic day. The local organic mineral supplement / dewormer for farm animals sales woman stopped by the farm. The woman stayed for an hour and a half selling her products and talking about everything under the sun including her pool that’s shaped like a bean. She talked a mile a minute (in French) with the local accent. In the afternoon, I went to the local 2 hour French class for immigrants with Louisa. Then we picked the kids up from the school and Harmonie was bitten by the village dog! After the chaos, I was rather looking forward to a quiet afternoon all alone on the farm while Louisa and the kids took Stuart to Auch, so that he could head to the airport for a weekend trip to England.<br /><br />After some time on the computer, I went outside to enjoy the view and read my book. As soon as I got outside the donkeys, goats, and sheep saw me and assumed I was there to feed them. They all lined up along the electric fence, which is just in front of the house, and got that sort of crazed hungry look they get before each feeding. I hadn’t been out there for more than a minute when I turn around just in time to see a sheep run straight through the electric fence and then stare at me with an expectant look on its face. I had time to say “Oh shit!” before one more sheep charged through. I thought for sure the whole herd was about to follow at any second.<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsg2-DyLgn6xop3RsOlNBbAxhIdQhfDfmZV2UbEIHcLvQJusngjDvdlcSRlCdUsgVZprI4kJoFAWIBxEAHyIdJTjSmhRHo1z3bICWUj796QPBjtIfWxh2T28HAmdv4TJRDVobCW6lBP3zm/s1600/Sheep+Devil1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515756569894403666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsg2-DyLgn6xop3RsOlNBbAxhIdQhfDfmZV2UbEIHcLvQJusngjDvdlcSRlCdUsgVZprI4kJoFAWIBxEAHyIdJTjSmhRHo1z3bICWUj796QPBjtIfWxh2T28HAmdv4TJRDVobCW6lBP3zm/s320/Sheep+Devil1.JPG" /></a><br />What's wrong with this picture?<br /><br /><div align="left">My mind was racing thinking what the hell am I supposed to do? I tried shooing them back in, but they were more interested in the grass. Rosie the goat was already on the wrong side of the fence, so she came over to see what was up. Rosie always jumps over the fence to hang out on the human side. She just wants to be a part of whatever fun the humans are up to as well as eat the greener grass. So anyways, I had three animals on the wrong side, although I wasn’t worried about Rosie because I knew she’d go back when she wanted to. I didn’t trust the two sheep though, and all the other animals (donkeys, sheep, and more goats) were still staring at me. Neddie the donkey kept baying at me, and the sheep were breathing super heavy. I tried to think of what food I could grab the fastest to lure them back into the field – carrots! I ran into the house and grabbed some. Rosie was very interested in the carrots and was all over me, but the sheep couldn’t have cared less. I gave the carrots to the goats and the donkeys.<br /><br />I knew the only other option was to grab a bucket of corn. I grabbed the feed bucket and ran around the back of the house to the garage to find some corn. Then all the chickens saw me. After only a few days they now associate my legs with food, so I had about ten chickens following me and of course a few followed me into the garage. I grabbed a little corn and then coaxed the chickens back out. When I came back around the house with the bucket of corn all the animals were totally alert and watching my every move. The escaped sheep started walking towards me and followed me up to the edge of the fence. The fence is the first electric fence that Stuart and Louisa set up. They tried to do it on the cheap, so it’s a total mess and a pain to deal with. I’m typically not supposed to open and close the fence because it’s so difficult to keep the wires from getting tangled, so I really didn’t want to open the fence to put the sheep back in. I threw some corn over the fence, thinking the sheep might run back through. They just looked at me like I was crazy and went back to grazing. Rosie on the other hand, was quite excited and kept trying to stick her head in my bucket. I kept pushing her back, but she got more and more aggressive. She started trying to head butt me, so I started yelling at her and pushing back. Since she wasn’t getting her way she then reared up on her hind legs. She’d done this to me a few days before though, so I knew she was only trying to scare me. I kept yelling at her and using the bucket as a shield from her horns. She did this about five times, so I eventually gave up and gave her a little pile of corn. What a pain!<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOak6jXf7ech4sp4_qrKoedfqOlsq7SSy0Jrsd4IFPrkt3rDCiLBxK8i3org2PDw8eUlVPT_9fUuhdHeTYSVcrhv-_V-DlKwjKmq9xH4N8830XHeBwPiUqosyvCUUKfjsIPTdGjuQt9Gdr/s1600/Sheep+Devil2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515756561608793138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOak6jXf7ech4sp4_qrKoedfqOlsq7SSy0Jrsd4IFPrkt3rDCiLBxK8i3org2PDw8eUlVPT_9fUuhdHeTYSVcrhv-_V-DlKwjKmq9xH4N8830XHeBwPiUqosyvCUUKfjsIPTdGjuQt9Gdr/s320/Sheep+Devil2.JPG" /></a><br />Rosie<br /><br /><div align="left">After much deliberation, I decided I’d just have to open the electric fence. This consists of unhooking four long wires from a post and trying to not get them tangled as well as not get shocked. Opening it was the easy part, and the sheep followed me right in. Even Rosie followed me in. I dumped the last bit of corn in the field and hurried back out. I started trying to put the fence back together, but of course, the wires had somehow gotten tangled already. I got one line of wire back in place when another sheep barged through! I was thinking you’ve got to be kidding me! I was out of corn, and didn’t want to get more with the fence open, so I just kept working on the fence. I got the rest of the wires in place, but it was totally tangled, so it didn’t much resemble a fence.<br /><br />The other damn sheep that escaped was grazing away not paying any attention to me. I couldn’t shoo it back in, and by this time I was fed up. I decided I’d just sit and watch it. I sat on a rock for a few minutes watching the sheep. They are really bizarre creatures. They never stop grazing, so they make heavy breathing noises in and out of their nose. They sound sort of like lawnmowers. After a few minutes, the sheep walked up to me and sniffed my face for about 10 seconds and then went back to grazing. Bizarre. I was getting bored, so I tried to shoo it back in again, which miraculously worked this time. Thank goodness! I had all animals back inside. Now the only problem was the mangled fence.<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHcvizpiU5Y2j84vbVCcSQhPqNUYLPsO3izUwwZBQXOifJm7SbXrOUkdP6HRw6mI5DNkuYvfxZHkhW3rczvpk2HEJ_fwg9b50grxyBo7SKS9bhmvXb9lokj1aeOi0bJUE0kwKZQuAUvG7/s1600/Sheep+Devil3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515756534366690098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHcvizpiU5Y2j84vbVCcSQhPqNUYLPsO3izUwwZBQXOifJm7SbXrOUkdP6HRw6mI5DNkuYvfxZHkhW3rczvpk2HEJ_fwg9b50grxyBo7SKS9bhmvXb9lokj1aeOi0bJUE0kwKZQuAUvG7/s320/Sheep+Devil3.JPG" /></a><br />Sheep Devil<br /><br /><div align="left">I could’ve just left it, but I was worried it would be too easy for another sheep to walk through. The anal side of me was also taking over. I decided to just try to fix the wires a bit and hope I didn’t get shocked. Of course I got shocked, and it hurt! I got the wires mostly untangled, but the last one somehow got totally screwed up to the point where I couldn’t get it latched back on the post. Great! I could’ve just left it in the first place, but no, I had to fiddle with it. Now I was left with an even worse gap in the fence, and I got shocked again. I didn’t know how to turn off the electricity to the fence, so I just said screw it. I read outside keeping an eye on the animals until it got dark. By this time they had gotten over all the excitement and were scattered through the field. Louisa eventually came home and wasn’t worried about it in the slightest. She didn’t even bother to fix the fence until the next morning. She did have a good laugh over the story though. </div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-47820226228129905682010-09-11T05:12:00.000-07:002010-09-11T13:24:48.000-07:00The Farm<div>I’m finally getting around to writing about the farm that I have been living on for five days now. I’ve either been too busy or too tired to write in the afternoons. The farm is in the Gers just outside of a small village called Montesquiou. The farm is owned by an English couple, Louisa and Stuart. They have two kids, a girl and a boy. Harmonie is 4, and Phoenix is 3. They moved to France 3 years ago with the intention of buying a small farm (about 5 hectares) where they could live off the land and be self sufficient. 18 months after they arrived, they bought this farm which is 50 hectares. Instead of just living off the land, they are now full blown farmers.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPRN9y1h0jte428L_mTFLhUbaQZ7_dcfvvIjzDb1HCGQmbM2irFlCxPebzs1lOG98zTWDw2HTrPnDwEpv2eBtGmC2flB733OmPBbRNMiaw1tUbOAroUA-qFFLe2hu8BQJ02BDSnG0fvocv/s1600/Farm1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515630585824233746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPRN9y1h0jte428L_mTFLhUbaQZ7_dcfvvIjzDb1HCGQmbM2irFlCxPebzs1lOG98zTWDw2HTrPnDwEpv2eBtGmC2flB733OmPBbRNMiaw1tUbOAroUA-qFFLe2hu8BQJ02BDSnG0fvocv/s320/Farm1.JPG" /></a></p><div><br /></div><p align="center">The Farmhouse</p><div><br />They have only been living on the farm for 18 months, so they’re still in the stage of getting everything going. They have a lot of animals! There are six dogs, two feral cats, two donkeys, three goats, about fifteen sheep, two sows (each with about five piglets), about seven other pigs, three geese, ten ducks, and maybe 55 chickens. They have a vegetable garden with tomatoes, potatoes, eggplant, squash, carrots, grapes, strawberries, figs, and peppers. Their land is broken up into prairie, woodland, and fields for grains. They haven’t started growing grains yet, maybe next year. Everything is organic or in the process of becoming certified. The house is a typical old French farmhouse with lots of shutters and red terracotta roof tiles.<br /><br />They bought the house from an old and slightly crazy woman. She had been living in the house with about 30 cats and a pig. The animals pooed everywhere. It was a total mess. Louisa and Stuart have put a lot of work into just making the house habitable.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WnX8zT3qsCDkanMwspEPmgjhDktBZe750cZJ8lDhY2Ye_cZSWBi8SyfvgroY8pFUUBqpM8IHQ6dNUVGUphKTLXeUg21ujghCPFzjE9gbyoYLcHT_j5KeZ-nvhQBarC1fpsRGY9g1s_hz/s1600/Farm2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515630561163234866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WnX8zT3qsCDkanMwspEPmgjhDktBZe750cZJ8lDhY2Ye_cZSWBi8SyfvgroY8pFUUBqpM8IHQ6dNUVGUphKTLXeUg21ujghCPFzjE9gbyoYLcHT_j5KeZ-nvhQBarC1fpsRGY9g1s_hz/s320/Farm2.JPG" /></a></p><div><br /></div><p align="center">The view from the front of the house. Sometimes you can see the Pyrenees.</p><div><br />My job is to help out on the farm for five hours a day, six days a week in return for a bed and three meals a day. I have a bedroom in the house, which is great because I thought I was going to be living in a tent in the barn or in an outbuilding. My main task in the morning is to feed most of the animals while Stuart and Louisa are getting the kids ready for school. I start at 8:00am. I feed the pigs (but not the sows and their piglets) and sometimes the donkeys, sheep, and goats depending on where they spent the night. I then feed the little chicks in the barn that are maybe a week old. Afterwards I move onto the chicken kingdom which is on a little hill behind the house. There are two hen coops, and then four smaller coops which hold either “teenage” chickens not old enough to be on their own yet, a rooster with a few hens for mating, or just roosters. There is another large holding pen for the ducks, two of the geese, and a lone rooster who likes hanging out there. The chickens are free range, so each morning they’re let out of the coops. They are free to wander around the farm looking for food and laying eggs.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgv2PPREPMSEOI2MY7zRJ1VODOigb56yWPSqDYmbacyFTHrKBUQxp1zzYY3jta4zaqkq54tQifIvk5QnLa37TVLeDLhjAjhkA2Y8_Wo25uH6bLAOwxljzCg7KbzH2GCn3QhYVcguurSld/s1600/Farm3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515630554959379458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgv2PPREPMSEOI2MY7zRJ1VODOigb56yWPSqDYmbacyFTHrKBUQxp1zzYY3jta4zaqkq54tQifIvk5QnLa37TVLeDLhjAjhkA2Y8_Wo25uH6bLAOwxljzCg7KbzH2GCn3QhYVcguurSld/s320/Farm3.JPG" /></a></p><div><br /></div><p align="center">The whole house with the barn attached</p><div><br />After I’ve fed all the animals, I look for Louisa and find out what we’ll be doing the rest of the day. Every day is different. So far I have harvested potatoes, picked tomatoes and strawberries, mucked out the chicken coops, walked the dogs, cleaned sheep wool, picked weeds for the pigs, collected donkey poo, and made sheep poo tea. I imagine you’re wondering what sheep poo tea is. Louisa collects sheep poo and then puts it in a pillow case, ties it up, and then puts the pillow case in a large barrel of water. The water becomes infused with the sheep poo and she then uses it to water the vegetables. And why do we collect donkey poo? It’s too strong to leave in the fields because it’ll kill the grass that feeds the animals, so it’s put in the compost pile. It also helps keep the weeds down in the compost. Another odd one is cleaning the sheep wool. There is a huge pile of sheep wool behind the barn. Today I had the task of picking big pieces of straw and chunks of poo off the wool and putting it into laundry bags. The bags are then put into the bathtub with boiling hot water which dissolves the sheep oils. Afterwards, they are laid out on sheets on the lawn to dry. Louisa and Stuart plan on using the wool as insulation. It’s going to be a slow process.<br /><br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNq2t_LRcJsS9hrQZ_PVlUr2OWlQRRXdSLjfpvZkUuMYoWnnBTicH4NsJQRoS_C9xeCLppEECVk7RxxIZNhdFmoRiMNRhUy85iwoaLoD7ehulOU4Y3tAdCgJa7KKtMvu15hwT_0UnA_1NS/s1600/Farm4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515630545422832866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNq2t_LRcJsS9hrQZ_PVlUr2OWlQRRXdSLjfpvZkUuMYoWnnBTicH4NsJQRoS_C9xeCLppEECVk7RxxIZNhdFmoRiMNRhUy85iwoaLoD7ehulOU4Y3tAdCgJa7KKtMvu15hwT_0UnA_1NS/s320/Farm4.JPG" /></a></p><div><br /></div><p align="center">The view from my bedroom windown</p><div><br />In the afternoons I’m free to do whatever I want. I usually find something to help Louisa with in the kitchen. It’s harvest time, so she has a ton of fruit and vegetables that need canning or cooking. I helped her can a batch of pickle when I arrived. I’d never heard of pickle, but it’s a British thing sort of like chutney made from fruits, vegetables, and spices. I haven’t tasted it yet because it has to sit for 2 months before you open the jar. It looks good though. We also made plum jam the other night and we’ll make cherry jam soon. We have tomatoes coming out of our ears, so we’ll either can them or make tomato sauce. We’ve been drying the smaller tomatoes in the oven to make “sun-dried” tomatoes. They are then either eaten (delicious!) or put in jars with olive oil. Louisa even gave me a few of the jars to take home.<br /><br />That’s the quick and dirty of the farm. I’ll fill in more about the chaotic life on this farm as well as each animal because they’re pretty funny.</div><div> </div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFDQcLuhnuYv-GLxOgz2_XFMpYHULSzq-qCIVFxNLhrqj3Z93UyR7m28V1Lk34OaVQE4cjTZwpU6-_52PacdeaBwlBndKOzrqyZ5BKxhOs4nRFfCQOwPf4kU_DUVCVJ3OCf_ltiy4Tq2-/s1600/Farm5.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515753999873322450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFDQcLuhnuYv-GLxOgz2_XFMpYHULSzq-qCIVFxNLhrqj3Z93UyR7m28V1Lk34OaVQE4cjTZwpU6-_52PacdeaBwlBndKOzrqyZ5BKxhOs4nRFfCQOwPf4kU_DUVCVJ3OCf_ltiy4Tq2-/s320/Farm5.jpg" /></a></p><p align="center">View from the vegetable garden</p>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-26637718921273143332010-09-08T13:39:00.000-07:002010-09-08T13:58:22.971-07:00The Loire Valley to The GersMartine and Pierre dropped me off in front of the train station in Tours Sunday morning. Unfortunately, they couldn’t come inside because there was no where to park the car. Sunday was a madhouse in Tours. It was the day of the Bradarie which is a twice annual sidewalk sale on crack. Every shop in town participates displaying their sale items on the sidewalk. All the squares fill up with merchants as well. There are rides for the kids, crafts, and food for sale. We left the apartment at 8:30 in the morning and the frenzy had already begun. There were people everywhere. Streets were closed and policemen were directing traffic, or supposed to be. They were actually just standing around chatting.<br /><br /><br /><p></p><p align="left">Ayumi got out of the car with me and went to the station. My friend Konomi also met us at the station to say goodbye. She gave me a little present of a Japanese cookie (kind of like a giant rice cracker), a cute note, and a little charm to hang on my cell phone. The charm has a little cup and a piece of sushi – super cute! The two of them saw me onto the train, and then I was off.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSwX5VF6fcygXFyGiHWHy5c3B4xCUOQAua2J1IgX4dQUSiHHS7tjP1UX5i86PeGA-8EE4caKFogOSzsolGg4vWc4iHEQB1VX0v4YaSzJJObUwbPWyECpoamHB7FzEWccCT6mg9pxZ9oA-e/s1600/To+Gers1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514645646780493154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSwX5VF6fcygXFyGiHWHy5c3B4xCUOQAua2J1IgX4dQUSiHHS7tjP1UX5i86PeGA-8EE4caKFogOSzsolGg4vWc4iHEQB1VX0v4YaSzJJObUwbPWyECpoamHB7FzEWccCT6mg9pxZ9oA-e/s320/To+Gers1.jpg" /></a><br />Konomi and I with the present she gave me<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRm2Kw1OgrEZ4lbKPTeSWoddwEaWTX9Y5jFiENm-ZvDbbJ_J5ckwgrrBu4v5aGsMgABdWbRVCLJrwfy0z43p61mjQmzJafmjT1ig32ch7VA0uIict0-Lx85IjWKzO9eSDhofc4L_rpKWlF/s1600/To+Gers2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514645644095712114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRm2Kw1OgrEZ4lbKPTeSWoddwEaWTX9Y5jFiENm-ZvDbbJ_J5ckwgrrBu4v5aGsMgABdWbRVCLJrwfy0z43p61mjQmzJafmjT1ig32ch7VA0uIict0-Lx85IjWKzO9eSDhofc4L_rpKWlF/s320/To+Gers2.JPG" /></a> </p><p align="left"><br />The agenda for the day was quite a big one:<br />09h13 depart Tours (by train)<br />09h18 arrive in St Pierre des Corps<br /><br />09h26 depart St Pierre des Corps (by train)<br />12h01 arrive in Bordeaux<br /><br />12h38 depart Bordeaux (by train)<br />13h43 arrive in Agen<br /><br />16h25 depart Agen (by bus)<br />17h57 arrive in Auch<br /><br />19h10 depart Auch (by bus)<br />19h40 arrive in Mirande<br /><br />Mirande to the farm (~20 minutes by car)<br /><br />It was fun stopping in Bordeaux. I’ll have to come back sometime. The town looked really pretty and the train station had great architecture. The countryside surrounding it, naturally, was covered in grape vines.<br /></p><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJPV_kkwblG0PmLSSjDbu5bnh0r_6wI043_CwvSEbsd-zq4bYkNuuw4ikdCFmbiDjRYoxov4yVuklQTjFn9n9PjRLYQ0tfvranS36EO_HWHODOHpW-ZOcsVJ93y1ziO8FpoYvAkPLtuEr/s1600/To+Gers3b.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514645435906309378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJPV_kkwblG0PmLSSjDbu5bnh0r_6wI043_CwvSEbsd-zq4bYkNuuw4ikdCFmbiDjRYoxov4yVuklQTjFn9n9PjRLYQ0tfvranS36EO_HWHODOHpW-ZOcsVJ93y1ziO8FpoYvAkPLtuEr/s320/To+Gers3b.JPG" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWyIdRlQtTHwHMSns5XT7u-cwDNK9QvErky3067ABWS6KQ2kzONOVqB_sejYiwt1jyoryZu9HzQaJ1WjKjN8dUIPs9QoDOoSKm7JoPXgLUsjdpOrCuKyU-AUm-jmPst01eMGiGPwB2YAD/s1600/To+Gers3a.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514645448517563730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWyIdRlQtTHwHMSns5XT7u-cwDNK9QvErky3067ABWS6KQ2kzONOVqB_sejYiwt1jyoryZu9HzQaJ1WjKjN8dUIPs9QoDOoSKm7JoPXgLUsjdpOrCuKyU-AUm-jmPst01eMGiGPwB2YAD/s320/To+Gers3a.JPG" /></a><br />Bordeaux Train Station<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAoGhwFSepPO9bDkbnOle3hc7NlCVpeFZ6gGzBC1oQlr-erTkAoUks3ZpXsRKViS2bcpiuGFJEXOp229RE0YaRfCyovQgxynevxVjAeNrlLEDDtn1QyixfMXcliHOF8Pf6YS6bDMk35OoF/s1600/To+Gers3c.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514645426734806706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAoGhwFSepPO9bDkbnOle3hc7NlCVpeFZ6gGzBC1oQlr-erTkAoUks3ZpXsRKViS2bcpiuGFJEXOp229RE0YaRfCyovQgxynevxVjAeNrlLEDDtn1QyixfMXcliHOF8Pf6YS6bDMk35OoF/s320/To+Gers3c.JPG" /></a></p><p align="center">Vines outside of Bordeaux </p><br /><div align="left"><br />I made it to Agen without a hitch where I had 2 and a half hours to dilly dally. Martine and I thought I would be able to deposit my backpack in a locker at the train station so that I could explore the town a bit before leaving for Auch. Unfortunately, the train station had no lockers. I decided to walk around the town a bit anyways because I wanted to check out the prune shops, since Agen is the prune capital of France. I forgot it was Sunday though, so evidemment, all the shops were closed and the town was deserted. I walked about ten minutes in the heat and decided that was enough! With my big backpack, I was also a walking target for stares and a few comments from random men on the street. I returned to the station and took a cafe instead.<br /><br />The rest of the trip was fairly simple. I caught both my buses, each of which took me deeper and deeper into the country. The terrain became more and more hilly, and the people gradually became more and more casual. I started to hear a slight difference in the accent too. It’s apparently pretty strong in the South. Louisa from the farm found me in Mirande and took me to the farm. The farm is gorgeous, but I’ll have to fill in all the details later. We’ve got to go move the donkeys and sheep now!<br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlHMD70fYW2LlAkBSW6SCVRUtA3gJ3R1KF5TDE5USWOnc0NFYFXpZZqpZCqNEi5CMwtTBPIYOQhknlgXirrXEYwwPVR-nZYIee4H1L_uWM_LTNC_I4kZobp-NhCZNcQHQYkcf2EXtfO-6/s1600/To+Gers4a.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514645410007408306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlHMD70fYW2LlAkBSW6SCVRUtA3gJ3R1KF5TDE5USWOnc0NFYFXpZZqpZCqNEi5CMwtTBPIYOQhknlgXirrXEYwwPVR-nZYIee4H1L_uWM_LTNC_I4kZobp-NhCZNcQHQYkcf2EXtfO-6/s320/To+Gers4a.JPG" /></a><br />Driving into the Gers by bus</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYtLOmFYdAGpndVATwDgTvAFxp4SR4TyPBwslzXQiVKNTRpAdIvczG0RVmQ1d2i5QQgrEsE1pcpu9GFeO2bEz2m1p9Q_QYMr90schXwaKgf3HDapDTmyg2EoGUOjpfaaHzkJRFvn-mriu/s1600/To+Gers4b.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514645396645732882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYtLOmFYdAGpndVATwDgTvAFxp4SR4TyPBwslzXQiVKNTRpAdIvczG0RVmQ1d2i5QQgrEsE1pcpu9GFeO2bEz2m1p9Q_QYMr90schXwaKgf3HDapDTmyg2EoGUOjpfaaHzkJRFvn-mriu/s320/To+Gers4b.JPG" /></a><br />View of the sunflowers from the bus (ready to be harvested)</div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-66620471639637393652010-09-07T10:36:00.001-07:002010-09-07T10:59:12.884-07:00The Last SupperMartine let me choose the menu for my last meal at 7 Place de la Resistance last Saturday. She had told me about a dish the other night of potatoes stuffed with fresh foie gras, so I requested that with boudin blanc and a galette cake for dessert. Unfortunately, there was no fresh foie gras at the Monoprix since it’s really something you eat in autumn/winter. Instead, Martine found pied du porc pané, which is pig’s feet rolled in bread crumbs! She had told us about the dish before, but was not able to find it until today. She requested four pig’s feet from the butcher who, upon learning she was going to serve it to two foreigners looking to experience French food, gave her a lecture saying it was not something eaten very often by the French. We’d be better off eating something like boudin blanc or boudin noir. He went on for 5 or 10 minutes, but Martine took the pig’s feet anyway.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfveR9Nk_JMxrDsUTnSJkZ8u9X1a0woMl7bSROi3hzRcPTKagiiXNWuxD_iZakA6_QGffOdl3DATq0IXuzjgrtkEncHHNMLPD9uQUgRtXqBr6HkC6r1faT1a562GCC7nPp184odwJC3Irm/s1600/LS0.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514229454596514002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfveR9Nk_JMxrDsUTnSJkZ8u9X1a0woMl7bSROi3hzRcPTKagiiXNWuxD_iZakA6_QGffOdl3DATq0IXuzjgrtkEncHHNMLPD9uQUgRtXqBr6HkC6r1faT1a562GCC7nPp184odwJC3Irm/s320/LS0.JPG" /></a><br /><br /></p><p align="left">Back at the apartment we got started on the galette. The cake consists of pâte feuilletée filled with a layer of vanilla almond custard. It’s a cake traditionally found during the month of January to celebrate the Epiphany and called Galette des Rois. A small trinket is stashed in the custard, and whoever finds it in their cake gets to be king for a day. Martine used store bought pâte feuilletée (similar to puff pastry), and we whipped up the custard. We had to make two batches of custard to get the desired amount of filling for the cake. The custard didn’t quite turn out as hoped. The flavor was okay, but a little weak. The cake overall wasn’t great, but it was fun to make. I’ll have to try it again when I get back to the states.<br /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkkXXZrv52qS7ZNBhon-ynUIuapr_OoPcRmXPwk5RQP44QR1ftYxmXetV9pvbIiKMXuTMiCTlN9K7kETizeBhbNV_c_Wj24c6pSMdKjL_R-HtJBVFfWbcTA2EScDkKCL1Tb_Odiv4KpvN/s1600/LS1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514229285337062386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkkXXZrv52qS7ZNBhon-ynUIuapr_OoPcRmXPwk5RQP44QR1ftYxmXetV9pvbIiKMXuTMiCTlN9K7kETizeBhbNV_c_Wj24c6pSMdKjL_R-HtJBVFfWbcTA2EScDkKCL1Tb_Odiv4KpvN/s320/LS1.JPG" /></a><br /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlN9PG6I_j5zuWY5Akehwu_iZeeUU4wdSrjmTXgHkqpAV_Cu4P9z5H3WM6f4dwItyqpXkFIU6SBhP1I9jHxkAWXcHjS7SU_NFIf1HfRdha2j5Tq4_8gijaL7GYLr1MYCZwWEh4-obQXN5w/s1600/LS2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514229278096995698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlN9PG6I_j5zuWY5Akehwu_iZeeUU4wdSrjmTXgHkqpAV_Cu4P9z5H3WM6f4dwItyqpXkFIU6SBhP1I9jHxkAWXcHjS7SU_NFIf1HfRdha2j5Tq4_8gijaL7GYLr1MYCZwWEh4-obQXN5w/s320/LS2.JPG" /></a><br />The galette and...Ayumi?<br /><br /></p><div align="left">The pig’s feet just needed to be thrown in the oven, so they were done in a jiffy. The potatoes were served with crème fraîche and we each had one giant pig foot on our plate. It was without a doubt the most bizarre thing I’ve ever eaten. There is only a tiny sliver of meat on the back side of the foot which is delicious. The rest is just super gelatinous fat. The flavor is interesting and very different, but it was pretty difficult to eat the whole thing. It was sort of like eating 2 cups of animal fat. Ayumi didn’t like it right off the bat. I thought it was okay and ate about half. Pierre, who also came for dinner, has never been much of a fan of pig’s feet and really wasn’t all that interested. Martine had luckily anticipated this and bought some boudin blanc, so we cooked that up and were all satisfied. Martine loves pig’s feet, so she kept what we didn’t eat for leftovers.<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UxlEGVoz5zco5-uVT4ShsaleI27Nl4Yt7SGograUJZ_BhX2e4SdVz0hPYLQb2B-tRkcR1L4iS9DtbBwoxqJiC_PVqP38GFTDNIhybuex5dk-N3hNYdGsXWNI4plWVUB5oPWFHx3KvKUt/s1600/LS4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514229274829566354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UxlEGVoz5zco5-uVT4ShsaleI27Nl4Yt7SGograUJZ_BhX2e4SdVz0hPYLQb2B-tRkcR1L4iS9DtbBwoxqJiC_PVqP38GFTDNIhybuex5dk-N3hNYdGsXWNI4plWVUB5oPWFHx3KvKUt/s320/LS4.JPG" /></a><br /><br /></p>When it came time for the cake, Martine said that it’s traditional for the kids in the family to hide under the table and call out who gets each piece of cake (so there’s no fighting over the trinket in the cake). She said we were going to follow tradition even though we didn’t have a trinket and that I had to stand in the corner and call out who got each piece of cake! I followed orders. After returning to the table and digging into my cake I found a rather large piece of aluminum foil. I thought it rather strange and quite careless of Martine to let a huge piece of foil fall into the custard. I realized it might be something else though, and unwrapped it to find a charm bracelet! Ayumi and Martine had stuffed it into the custard before cooking the cake when I wasn’t looking.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhix5FqrKGgxgeaoLOAoeyazW2Kq7_0Lnqk_aDOY3_XXmyAyKBKoVSaSmjCRNMaC7O1hwVZawO_4kkzD3jZOdLwDH86YVLW2dV1BcYrUsiH5_Y1zJxHxIC_lZYCr4yiAs4AMq68IZ-sXiUl/s1600/LS5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514229271012312034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhix5FqrKGgxgeaoLOAoeyazW2Kq7_0Lnqk_aDOY3_XXmyAyKBKoVSaSmjCRNMaC7O1hwVZawO_4kkzD3jZOdLwDH86YVLW2dV1BcYrUsiH5_Y1zJxHxIC_lZYCr4yiAs4AMq68IZ-sXiUl/s320/LS5.JPG" /></a><br />Martine and I with the orchid I gave her<br /><br /></p><p align="left">It was a fun night, and I was sorry it was my last. My stay with Martine and Ayumi could not have been better. I will really miss them. Ayumi has already made plans for us to all meet again in France in 5 years.<br /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGSI-5b_ke1GwQSegMCAO56cPu74-nIl5hujw6mZ_m80VSWW5RFGRIXpQ_HZAiLJIHyB9_SaGkQJI7rwsi_-pMvs6bL1DCGB0xwgpFfyBMn5VBz8azF7FH46njzX_J0kYSyZ25MhrzwPWJ/s1600/LS6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514229262666003586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGSI-5b_ke1GwQSegMCAO56cPu74-nIl5hujw6mZ_m80VSWW5RFGRIXpQ_HZAiLJIHyB9_SaGkQJI7rwsi_-pMvs6bL1DCGB0xwgpFfyBMn5VBz8azF7FH46njzX_J0kYSyZ25MhrzwPWJ/s320/LS6.JPG" /></a></p>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-90642700147335136832010-09-07T09:23:00.001-07:002010-09-07T09:36:43.714-07:00Tours Langues<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkNsJ0w6K-h8TK_JEesLFaA7IgVtVP2D0Kbue6ple8YW6XerVmKdDkY3ucqJYUrldFnzqpdA4jaYaf5IpZ85xAhz5SPP1stxKYaRxidL8In43_Z1oyR0-4EbqF1s85qQfTPhvLuGQER8N/s1600/TL1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514208673294584866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkNsJ0w6K-h8TK_JEesLFaA7IgVtVP2D0Kbue6ple8YW6XerVmKdDkY3ucqJYUrldFnzqpdA4jaYaf5IpZ85xAhz5SPP1stxKYaRxidL8In43_Z1oyR0-4EbqF1s85qQfTPhvLuGQER8N/s320/TL1.JPG" /></a><br />Standing outside Tours Langue on my last day<br /><br /></p>My 6 weeks at Tours Langues are complete! I loved it. The school was exactly what I wanted. It was small and personal. The teachers were good, friendly, and really looked after the students. Some of the students remain in Tours for as long as one or two years, and they need help with getting cell phones, finding apartments, traveling to other cities, looking for apprenticeships, etc. The teachers really go out of their way to help the students out. There were a ton of Japanese students at the school who were all really friendly. There were also Mexicans, Spanish, other Americans (only my first 2 weeks), Italians, and Africans. The class sizes were small - 10 students max. The school was in an old building just off of Place Plumereau which is the center of the medieval part of town.<br /><br /><p align="center"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514208666202311682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1juAvJ_IqfRmDF45_AiE3o7J3oqLSU-5cnYKNNt-m20HAtN0ZO_m_YyPiZbbrWyUszhN1dLCo_xjlOekbWdaolhv4i6rtjvGxsCthiYCU8BoNZWCwqixS9ubXX5uQj-JzrvCIHwdXoBD/s320/TL2.JPG" /><br />Class Life<br /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyBx55_OIS4nYpzl0Dm4M1-UqLwlq5oHi3arAvQc2-XH-cCBrrPVckEe6AoRlv6Dit-eVqlBXtyG9gqosMm6HTNoMj9xU2oAyaMuQ2yngZhxcT-6yRE5R9WMKDte7wQ1NJmikhglhw7ECo/s1600/TL3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514208476903685826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyBx55_OIS4nYpzl0Dm4M1-UqLwlq5oHi3arAvQc2-XH-cCBrrPVckEe6AoRlv6Dit-eVqlBXtyG9gqosMm6HTNoMj9xU2oAyaMuQ2yngZhxcT-6yRE5R9WMKDte7wQ1NJmikhglhw7ECo/s320/TL3.JPG" /></a><br />The view of Place Plumereau from my classroon window<br /><br /></p><p align="left">My friend Judith left the week before I did, so our class had a little fete and we all brought food from our country. I asked the class what American food they wanted and EVERYONE requested brownies, so I found a recipe for Cheesecake Brownies on David Lebovits’ blog (my fave baker). He is an American living in Paris, and all of his recipes have the ingredients’ measurements by weight as well as cups/spoons. This came in handy since Martine only uses a scale to measure her ingredients. The brownies turned out pretty good. Judith made a banana cream tart from Mexico, my teach, Virginie, made a chocolate cake, and the Japanese students made an assortment of food that I had never seen or tasted before. Everything was super tasty!<br /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAk6Qa92wqDGSqRROZuEeXu99qw4m19fi_2684RNLzNhapn2UbYovpasHRKiOUazr6ghI4YSF-UC06l0kzezxXQ8dhZeOUn4sT524knxlijQMk2nqoJp2saBB7Emr5BSjyObpcC7ePUAfj/s1600/TL4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514208470906242578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAk6Qa92wqDGSqRROZuEeXu99qw4m19fi_2684RNLzNhapn2UbYovpasHRKiOUazr6ghI4YSF-UC06l0kzezxXQ8dhZeOUn4sT524knxlijQMk2nqoJp2saBB7Emr5BSjyObpcC7ePUAfj/s320/TL4.JPG" /></a><br />The spread<br /><br /></p>The following Friday was my last day of class as well as Ayumi’s. She starts a month long course in flower arranging on Monday at a different school. On top of that, it was Sayumi’s birthday, so Virginie (my teacher) baked two cakes – one yogurt and one chocolate. Sayumi’s host mom also baked a chocolate pear tart, so we pigged out during the break. It was sad saying goodbye to everyone, but we’re all Facebook friends now, so we can keep in touch!<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlm3RoRuK3UD5OKEvOsdNULlBQNowJ5tK0fPtaPzoiqb7waMxFxJeQSAQwsOoE3jjaONbIqSDIDbOGAXSLY0FyQEsm7VAPoVKp4SZ_46AltD9I_8Wp3ldUU5ZhLYUNDlY5hrtHQsmBcmD/s1600/TL5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514208464390215442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlm3RoRuK3UD5OKEvOsdNULlBQNowJ5tK0fPtaPzoiqb7waMxFxJeQSAQwsOoE3jjaONbIqSDIDbOGAXSLY0FyQEsm7VAPoVKp4SZ_46AltD9I_8Wp3ldUU5ZhLYUNDlY5hrtHQsmBcmD/s320/TL5.JPG" /></a><br />Did I mention there were a lot of Japanese students?</p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxW4JHmz65MgFERg5LvHjNsF9tVUsQDVTOJbzh848sX9-bmW84rZ3u6IdPBwtQu5gWHcFWJe8PzVmS8-DhPFvu-McBqbT_FVBAwNN5xUl3-KSfJzfJFoZ4iXOqi72GWJrQ95ZW7op61U7b/s1600/TL6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514208463310190626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxW4JHmz65MgFERg5LvHjNsF9tVUsQDVTOJbzh848sX9-bmW84rZ3u6IdPBwtQu5gWHcFWJe8PzVmS8-DhPFvu-McBqbT_FVBAwNN5xUl3-KSfJzfJFoZ4iXOqi72GWJrQ95ZW7op61U7b/s320/TL6.JPG" /></a><br />Eating cake with my afternoon professor, Yannick</p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYixXndnteQG2cOCnAvUIZY2w1VH8F-bRWFHN3c1PhIXt9Ru3Zgmqg_4s1U35lw3tZvJ3d41HlYoK2QHXci1xIGXg-NVdANjUzIDNR5hYBErZJzCwqZuuCbdytLYZryax9okmzSRLFBG4h/s1600/TL7.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514208456305405954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYixXndnteQG2cOCnAvUIZY2w1VH8F-bRWFHN3c1PhIXt9Ru3Zgmqg_4s1U35lw3tZvJ3d41HlYoK2QHXci1xIGXg-NVdANjUzIDNR5hYBErZJzCwqZuuCbdytLYZryax9okmzSRLFBG4h/s320/TL7.JPG" /></a><br />Last day of class</p>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-36829601120537421472010-09-06T10:27:00.001-07:002010-09-06T10:31:04.083-07:00Mauvais AnglaisI have seen a plethora of poorly translated English here. The best are the Japanese t-shirts with English on them. Ayumi told me it’s cool to wear clothes with English writing on them, but all the ones I’ve seen have bizarre statements that just don’t make sense. Here’s a perfect example:<br /><br /><div></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXshPCBNCzGDj6sJBlAIVEOH7Cudww_DnHMFQNgLMIgE1cyw7l1TVJRqa0FnpmLYs60K198ovihzLsSTNv710Yo4e7Nur91nfo-F_7SE6cUn5lwsucV2Nru9Qwe4PnrqPP7bMW6KFMT1dt/s1600/Hiroaki1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513853788286513474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXshPCBNCzGDj6sJBlAIVEOH7Cudww_DnHMFQNgLMIgE1cyw7l1TVJRqa0FnpmLYs60K198ovihzLsSTNv710Yo4e7Nur91nfo-F_7SE6cUn5lwsucV2Nru9Qwe4PnrqPP7bMW6KFMT1dt/s320/Hiroaki1.jpg" /></a></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcunkLPZpZ97rvHUmG5_3D9KrUGTHDNoG_1BSg-SroDPnwPAqzcLYWyytLUGGm-TU8e9c1uEuivpjsP2E-WC00q-jwpjBVS-IBggGpQHF-PukjNbmU7dLWO3-O0gWYZRC08ePMvuHoQTMy/s1600/Hiroaki2.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513853790569900754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcunkLPZpZ97rvHUmG5_3D9KrUGTHDNoG_1BSg-SroDPnwPAqzcLYWyytLUGGm-TU8e9c1uEuivpjsP2E-WC00q-jwpjBVS-IBggGpQHF-PukjNbmU7dLWO3-O0gWYZRC08ePMvuHoQTMy/s320/Hiroaki2.jpg" /></a></p><div></div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-9708014609764936262010-09-03T08:28:00.000-07:002010-09-03T08:45:27.624-07:00Oil Spill a la FrancaiseFor the last few weeks my upper body has been pretty tight, and I’ve had a lot of headaches, so I decided I’d get a massage in Tours. Martine new of a place and she made an appointment for a “California Massage” for me since my French isn’t that good yet. The night before the appointment I somehow managed to completely screw up my neck while sleeping. I’m not sure what I did. All I remember is feeling a big crunch in my neck, and then I couldn’t move it. So <em>evidemment</em>, I was in a lot of pain when I woke up (and still couldn’t move my neck). I was, however, relieved that I had the massage later that day, so I just needed to make it through class.<br /><br />Class was bearable but painful, and by the time I finished and started walking to my appointment my head was stuck tilted about 25 degrees to the right side. I made it to the location, Esthetic City, checked in, and waited a few minutes in a bright red chair that resembled a giant hand. A young woman called me back who was maybe 18. She turned out to be the “masseuse”. She led me into a tiny room that was almost completely dark and started giving me instructions. I picked out the words “clothes”, “door”, and “table”, after which she pointed to a small plastic wrapped package about the size of a tea bag on the table. I realized the package was paper underwear commonly provided in spas. So then I clarified... “Okay, you want all of my clothes on the back of the door and you want me on the table?”...”Yes”. Then I noticed there were only a few towels laid across the table, no sheets or blankets to snuggle under like in the States. So I pointed at the towels and asked “Do you want me under these?”...”No, on top of.” “And do you want me face up or face down?”...”Whatever you want. You’ll turn over half way through.” So now I understood. The woman wanted me butt naked except for some flimsy paper underwear on top of the massage table with nothing to cover me. I’m accustomed to the massages back in the States where you’re naked, but it’s like you and the masseuse pretend you’re not naked by moving around the blankets to uncover the area being worked on. Anyways, when in Rome, right? She left me to undress, and I couldn’t help but start laughing as I unwrapped the paper undies.<br /><br />I figured I’d ease myself into this experience and start face down. As I laid there waiting her return, I suddenly had a flash that maybe I hadn’t understood and the woman was about to return to find me totally naked lying on the table like some bizarre sci-fi movie. Fortunately, it turned out that I had understood correctly. I figured all this was really no big deal if it meant fixing my neck, which I hadn’t had the chance to tell her about yet. I also thought it weird that the table didn’t have the special face pillow attached at the end, so I had to gingerly lay my face down turned to the right which was the only direction it would move at that point. After she returned, I was waiting for her to go through the usual questions of what areas I wanted her to focus on, did I have any injuries, did anything hurt right now, etc? But no, she immediately started dripping cold oil all over my body. I didn’t have the nerve to attempt to explain in my broken French, but I soon realized it wouldn’t have made a difference if I had.<br /><br />She started by lightly running her hands up and down the length of my body smoothing out the oil. I assumed this was an initial movement just to help me relax. It took a little while as she had probably poured about a gallon of oil onto my skin. She had also turned on some music which sounded like waves crashing on a beach. I thought, “Well at least that’s normal. Waves are relaxing.” I was soon oily enough that I could’ve been roasted on a spit. I remember thinking, “Okay, the real massage is going to start any second now...” But no, the “masseuse” continued to just lightly move her hands up and down my skin - sometimes left to right and then right to left, and occasionally even in circles when she really wanted to be daring. The music had also changed for the worse, of course. A saxophone had begun to play on top of the crashing waves which resembled Kenny G a bit too much for my taste. It then transformed into some sort of 80s sci-fi movie soundtrack (which actually seemed fitting for the situation) and then morphed into a cheesy piano ballad making me feel like I was a character in a bad romance novel. All I could think was, “Oh shit. I can’t believe I’m about to spend 65 Euros on this. At least, I don’t have to tip in France!” Now and then I heard her yawning. I thought, “Yeah, I know. I would be bored too if I had to do what you’re doing for an hour.” I think I even heard her burp once.<br /><br />After 30 minutes of this invigorating experience she asked me to turn over. Don’t forget, I was totally naked (except for the paper underwear)! I reminded myself that it’s totally normal to walk around topless on a French beach, so why should it be so bizarre to do the same in a private room with a masseuse? I kept my eyes closed which helped me pretend that if I couldn’t see her, maybe she couldn’t see me. So the act of spreading oil around my body continued for another thirty minutes. It was bizarre to say the least.<br /><br />The massage finally ended, and the “masseuse” left me dripping with oil on the table. I had to use the towels to attempt to wipe myself off. I got dressed feeling the oil soak into my clothes, and then my shoes kept slipping off my feet because they were so greasy. I paid my 65 Euros and left with my head still cocked 25 degrees to the right.<br /><br />I’m sure there are some good masseuses in France, so I’m not trying to discourage anyone else from trying. Just stay away from Esthetic City on Rue Bernard Palissy.Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-34615968187448484592010-08-29T06:39:00.000-07:002010-08-29T06:46:15.648-07:00Chateau LuynesChateau Luynes is a chateau perched over the town of, you guessed it, Luynes. It’s rather small for a chateau, but it’s privately owned. It’s one of the few chateaus that has consistently been lived in for, uh..., a really long time (sorry I forgot).<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHLPNN6LEPsddUJ8HrbyV-wu33OXDVS6_3XIxWXbRUdmxuVhRVF8KRhHMmUrVvAMHZPDAhMA3oyE2XlDjLHT0nNyBF9wq7yvlNcG4Y-hTCj_u2kD-jsicTzxsfxQUjTTciZl9WYHABy4J/s1600/Luynes1a.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510826737284824882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHLPNN6LEPsddUJ8HrbyV-wu33OXDVS6_3XIxWXbRUdmxuVhRVF8KRhHMmUrVvAMHZPDAhMA3oyE2XlDjLHT0nNyBF9wq7yvlNcG4Y-hTCj_u2kD-jsicTzxsfxQUjTTciZl9WYHABy4J/s320/Luynes1a.JPG" /></a></p><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbpR9gB-wtlgYqhrVPCJWEeOgYLB3C2CTBRkyXByNq_yYU6VYkEq1VaqGO2D5PNKxbLvO58Ka0NGUhKpq0UHZ4pvEcmuaKFnCjIMqdVTuOaqIBp7riJW0OEenhJj2cd_MRcq3vgbO3Vxd/s1600/Luynes1b.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510826635713383202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbpR9gB-wtlgYqhrVPCJWEeOgYLB3C2CTBRkyXByNq_yYU6VYkEq1VaqGO2D5PNKxbLvO58Ka0NGUhKpq0UHZ4pvEcmuaKFnCjIMqdVTuOaqIBp7riJW0OEenhJj2cd_MRcq3vgbO3Vxd/s320/Luynes1b.jpg" /></a></p><br /><br />The family that owns the chateau uses it as a hunting lodge in the winter. Their permanent residence is a chateau three or four times larger located next to Paris! I don’t think I could ever live in a place like this though because it’s like living in a museum. You can't touch anything.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ07rHqWJx5Jvi0y0TW2lPiq6dM-C82od9oVBpPDOhthIfXAguHilT3zSW5fXz5yuBHHyf98SZAu0EPqgKJn64CtPENVs1QLnHY1GxEIROZtQYC0R75pp8lmaS4BPOUT0HfrkJo7g3yD23/s1600/Luynes2a.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510826626236556626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ07rHqWJx5Jvi0y0TW2lPiq6dM-C82od9oVBpPDOhthIfXAguHilT3zSW5fXz5yuBHHyf98SZAu0EPqgKJn64CtPENVs1QLnHY1GxEIROZtQYC0R75pp8lmaS4BPOUT0HfrkJo7g3yD23/s320/Luynes2a.JPG" /></a></p><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8qh2jICYiUQ56JKMR9R26IqVNOdjS4eMAn0345qHS5mBLSUvo6yVU_XWBmcb5JZoPw4Key3B7YgeLlRJ001oBw5sbxUd4CEzUCOsMn2zKqRkXgzEczBwQ936Y_pHszvfXkdL72-9w-ef/s1600/Luynes2b.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510826623481920162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8qh2jICYiUQ56JKMR9R26IqVNOdjS4eMAn0345qHS5mBLSUvo6yVU_XWBmcb5JZoPw4Key3B7YgeLlRJ001oBw5sbxUd4CEzUCOsMn2zKqRkXgzEczBwQ936Y_pHszvfXkdL72-9w-ef/s320/Luynes2b.JPG" /></a></p><br /><br />The week I visited the chateau, Tours Langues had just received about 15 new students from Mexico all between the ages of 15 and 17. A bunch of them came on the excursion to chateau Luynes, so it was pretty amusing for me watching them run around rattling off in Spanish. For the professor, it was like herding cats. I think he slept well that night...<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirx5ebRmPcqXHPYZm6c6NL3Qk1cj3RHb3TsARZMVaBhPcnGmI4gr3bgy_F0D1l3Qq_r_wlriZ77yzr5HFp74ExFWLSTkvwctCMOr3mmG5d-RP_rYuogiuHwAncjDKyxzvS4jx7YEVB8_EJ/s1600/Luynes3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510826617568346770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirx5ebRmPcqXHPYZm6c6NL3Qk1cj3RHb3TsARZMVaBhPcnGmI4gr3bgy_F0D1l3Qq_r_wlriZ77yzr5HFp74ExFWLSTkvwctCMOr3mmG5d-RP_rYuogiuHwAncjDKyxzvS4jx7YEVB8_EJ/s320/Luynes3.JPG" /></a></p><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuglI7mgPeFGqoXK7DJlK-iienDuQNZ8x24M56z_BL71_TcnxLfB1N4PrFwO9DHVpBm1cFgl_iQtmxF2E9rd7Pom8tKPbvjfcpsTIJ3uh6VD77d8Hc5xjqnzaDbJGjZNf4xLIKwn78z330/s1600/Luynes4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510826609788973730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuglI7mgPeFGqoXK7DJlK-iienDuQNZ8x24M56z_BL71_TcnxLfB1N4PrFwO9DHVpBm1cFgl_iQtmxF2E9rd7Pom8tKPbvjfcpsTIJ3uh6VD77d8Hc5xjqnzaDbJGjZNf4xLIKwn78z330/s320/Luynes4.JPG" /></a></p>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-54711097956976224962010-08-29T06:30:00.000-07:002010-08-29T06:38:51.138-07:00Vouvray CaveVouvray is a small town just East of Tours and across the Loire River. The area is well known for its white wine. Tours Langues (my language school) organized a trip there a couple weeks ago. We visited the cave of Domaine Vigneau-Chevreau. Apparently, Saint Martin of Tours (who lived from 316-397) planted the first grape vine there.<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRt6XNoOUTWuvKLaz-81w4zle9djn3os5cP4NLFSZ6GG90NcBL6p9gZKJnsoWKnpoB0oEgV2Ci28d59zv6TqdzgTuc735dzwB66MdHcJWnZReiABxbDViG_jf4bhvZ1aVnVfGyw_YtEDT/s1600/Vouvray1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510824257627125986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRt6XNoOUTWuvKLaz-81w4zle9djn3os5cP4NLFSZ6GG90NcBL6p9gZKJnsoWKnpoB0oEgV2Ci28d59zv6TqdzgTuc735dzwB66MdHcJWnZReiABxbDViG_jf4bhvZ1aVnVfGyw_YtEDT/s320/Vouvray1.jpg" /></a></p><br />Most of the wineries store their wine in caves dug out of the limestone (or tuffeau) hills found here in the Loire Valley. The caves were dug to extract the limestone to build all of the houses and chateaus. The caves are also used to grow mushrooms or converted into homes.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKD-0INKnLdk48uv3LJjOCgUBVv6bLk2KdJRlJXa5dNSWmjZaGAsDcVDpW7Hik13U3UuRhp-zcvIJgelXOBcXx4zrh46mUnV5kLR8A03IHKi84Ig0P6-UwcTyOg8y8HwF5LOaPExjJUz7/s1600/Vouvray2.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510824171251803202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKD-0INKnLdk48uv3LJjOCgUBVv6bLk2KdJRlJXa5dNSWmjZaGAsDcVDpW7Hik13U3UuRhp-zcvIJgelXOBcXx4zrh46mUnV5kLR8A03IHKi84Ig0P6-UwcTyOg8y8HwF5LOaPExjJUz7/s320/Vouvray2.jpg" /></a></p><br />The homes built in the rocks are called troglodytes. They were originally inhabited back in the day by peasants who had no money or property. They took up residence in the caves because they were free and for protection from soldiers when they came to collect taxes. It’s easy to hide in the caves as well as ambush anyone that tries to enter. People still live in troglodyte homes today. It’s very posh around here to buy a troglodyte and then build a house outward from the rock. Then you have rooms that can take in a lot of sunlight as well as rooms (usually the kitchen) in the cave, which always remain the same temperature (~13 deg C) and are easy to heat in the winter.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OGqyqmBUyzx_zH6oVI4IxJ1QmGiBJjojUYkQaAKOXhSkRkAEvQNJCwd97yIc9iqzSwd5jqpJaVJamY20Ueuphpz7BsQC2mIU_gNCuC9D9FEpZZmdzOWLQa7GPqCJ8dGM9WhGy-4DbiJQ/s1600/Vouvray3.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510824160451214114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OGqyqmBUyzx_zH6oVI4IxJ1QmGiBJjojUYkQaAKOXhSkRkAEvQNJCwd97yIc9iqzSwd5jqpJaVJamY20Ueuphpz7BsQC2mIU_gNCuC9D9FEpZZmdzOWLQa7GPqCJ8dGM9WhGy-4DbiJQ/s320/Vouvray3.jpg" /></a></p><br />Anyways... the winery we visited in Vouvray stored their wine in a cave. We walked through the cave and tasted the wines in the different rooms of the cave. I thought they were delish, so I bought two bottles. One was a dry 2008 white “Clos de Rougemont” and the other was a brut petillant (sparkling). The bottles cost 7.50 and 6.40 euros, respectively. I considered that to be SUPER cheap for how good they were. All the wines from the domaine are organic too (or bio, as the French say).<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiem-SA40Zu2kYAZkSkJtftT6jqQgU7z146obNeTyQMXvwDQ_swsoxYh5VSnFeikOSn8RMrMn2vBNM1vw3Qb58fIY00fLN48057j2X62WpVFAAveMLMAROlci4sIYwhJvIyjWdvGKs-u2FO/s1600/Vouvray4.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510824158708366658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiem-SA40Zu2kYAZkSkJtftT6jqQgU7z146obNeTyQMXvwDQ_swsoxYh5VSnFeikOSn8RMrMn2vBNM1vw3Qb58fIY00fLN48057j2X62WpVFAAveMLMAROlci4sIYwhJvIyjWdvGKs-u2FO/s320/Vouvray4.jpg" /></a></p><br />We have since drank both bottles. We drank the white wine with lunch and then again with dinner last Sunday. Martine served a savory cake with each meal. The first was with a river fish that tastes like salmon and the second cake was with vegetables . Martine loved the wine and said it was perfect. I thought it was pretty good too. Martine also thought the prices were excellent and plans to take a trip to the cave herself to buy more wine.<br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GRMyBeggGDCLAbhgXgqkWPCHLNaDDT_OjpCpiYdG0B9ycT2MJyCgBjdDqg7Pni9OhDeDjChA1VJfT7VLQtnLRcIeycbgi8C5CxuCM23BL2jcbfvYOnBqGyT2QJ0mu1AOist5bn5diiAz/s1600/Vouvray5a.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510824153757656306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GRMyBeggGDCLAbhgXgqkWPCHLNaDDT_OjpCpiYdG0B9ycT2MJyCgBjdDqg7Pni9OhDeDjChA1VJfT7VLQtnLRcIeycbgi8C5CxuCM23BL2jcbfvYOnBqGyT2QJ0mu1AOist5bn5diiAz/s320/Vouvray5a.jpg" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlsK6BnIC3j5DR_uF16Iajmht-kvvEdlvctA7xcfJzUz9f0U4m28PIH2irCTXZS2XUjQEOuFSKh8GHlr-349JGkK_JSQkAqxHbnRO_940PGRMO-YLggxBYVbjM0DpsaqZVmu5VRHauQFH/s1600/Vouvray5b.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510824149302824514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlsK6BnIC3j5DR_uF16Iajmht-kvvEdlvctA7xcfJzUz9f0U4m28PIH2irCTXZS2XUjQEOuFSKh8GHlr-349JGkK_JSQkAqxHbnRO_940PGRMO-YLggxBYVbjM0DpsaqZVmu5VRHauQFH/s320/Vouvray5b.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br />That night Ayumi also made a Japanese dessert which has a name I can’t remember or pronounce. We were each given a small scoop of vanilla ice cream, a ball of red bean paste, and three or four little balls of something gooey and very little taste. It sounds odd, but the mixture of everything was wonderful. It was light and mild, yet satisfying.<br /><br />We drank the brut pettillant a few nights later with a rabbit, potato, and carrot stew. Yum! It was a meal that one would normally make for a Sunday lunch or dinner, but we have a joke that “C’est dimanche tous les jours chez Martine!” (Everyday is Sunday at Martine’s house).Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-38038729022344151982010-08-23T08:36:00.000-07:002010-08-23T08:45:42.512-07:00Les Sables Beurre de CacahuetesI wandered into the salon this afternoon and saw Ayumi and Martine studying a recipe on her computer. Martine asked me, “Peanut butter cookies, do you know them?”. “<em>Mais oui, bien sur!</em>” was my response. We have half a jar of peanut butter at the house that was purchased due to the grandiose discussion on PB&Js a couple weeks ago. (And did I mention the jar cost 5 Euros?!) I’m not sure who, but either Ayumi or Martine knew what peanut butter cookies were and wanted to make them.<br /><br />I was intrigued by watching a French woman make an American dessert, so I offered to help. It was sort of a surreal experience. All Americans know what peanut butter cookies are and have at some point made them or watched them be made. Martine said this was the first time she’d ever made them and was asking my advice on the process. When we got to the part of forming the cookies, I showed her and Ayumi how to flatten the cookies with a glass and then make the cross hatch marks with a fork. Martine doesn’t own a cookie pan, so we baked them in her large tart pans. <div><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmAlMd29eCC0MdnAit0SupRKpmPub1wSLEJAzZmDUrFZUAKBIF_YtHqylhUrxAb286JWFmzwZ6-4huxNFy6gnfYPR9oKRA2HzCUT1Zb5F79S5T_q-DTgd-YEiNq17XJiLKEXoL_rqzdmp/s1600/PB+Cookies.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508631893988208258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmAlMd29eCC0MdnAit0SupRKpmPub1wSLEJAzZmDUrFZUAKBIF_YtHqylhUrxAb286JWFmzwZ6-4huxNFy6gnfYPR9oKRA2HzCUT1Zb5F79S5T_q-DTgd-YEiNq17XJiLKEXoL_rqzdmp/s320/PB+Cookies.jpg" /></a></p><div><br />They turned out pretty good, although a bit undercooked. Martine was pleased and said she’d have to make them again sometime for her friends who she thought would be quite impressed! This from the woman who turns out beautiful tarts, cakes, and other decadent desserts I hope to be lucky enough to try.</div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-70230731631827258232010-08-22T08:50:00.000-07:002010-08-22T09:02:08.258-07:00Salty WaterI picked up a bottle of mineral water the other day called St-Yorre which is bottled in Vichy, France. To my surprise it was salty! When I commented on it to Martine she said Vichy is an area of France where people visit for <em>la bonne sante</em>, and that Vichy water is very French. It is an ancient spa and resort town dating back to the Roman era known for its therapeutic thermal baths. Interesting, but I think I’ll stick to water <em>sans</em> salt... <div> </div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3o11dIdI8VwkF55RvvE2ia8Ov9cub_9R8vgboaujuH86uDcahHVDSHSVyJFdxDBGNG36vwCMTgJ9VJwt6ETwZ6rcENJEk4vkLL-zIWfKnbNr8FPweBO_67Bl0rwYf1VYBW8Sjmv184I67/s1600/Vichy.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508264934673707842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3o11dIdI8VwkF55RvvE2ia8Ov9cub_9R8vgboaujuH86uDcahHVDSHSVyJFdxDBGNG36vwCMTgJ9VJwt6ETwZ6rcENJEk4vkLL-zIWfKnbNr8FPweBO_67Bl0rwYf1VYBW8Sjmv184I67/s320/Vichy.JPG" /></a></p>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-54006532015990948662010-08-22T08:40:00.001-07:002010-08-22T09:05:13.822-07:00Chateau Chambord<div align="left">I visited yet another chateau last weekend. Chateau Chambord is the largest chateau in Europe. It’s huge! It has 77 staircases, 282 fireplaces, and 426 rooms. Judith, Sayumi, and I kept getting lost inside... Construction was initiated by Francois I when he was only 25 and not yet completed by the time of his death at age 53.<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnPb7ntoCutYe2GhByY5WhsXCti277ee2AtGxP_US5fdTYrCMgH1I4d5Ggunxb0skVbt5AEuRrYzCPG5chR9_2RPkVdwgVNBEihCWvcE7uHqSbftQZ4BU3INrbte93HrR7EmtbP1cUMYX/s1600/Chambord1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508260297391182034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwnPb7ntoCutYe2GhByY5WhsXCti277ee2AtGxP_US5fdTYrCMgH1I4d5Ggunxb0skVbt5AEuRrYzCPG5chR9_2RPkVdwgVNBEihCWvcE7uHqSbftQZ4BU3INrbte93HrR7EmtbP1cUMYX/s320/Chambord1.JPG" /></a></p><div align="left"><br />The architecture of the chateau was very innovative for its time; the most notable structure being the double helix staircase at the very center of the keep. It’s thought that Leonardo Da Vinci may have helped design it. Two spiral staircases wind independently around a central column so that when climbing one staircase you can see someone on the other but will never meet them.<br /><br /></div><p align="center"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508260198044413538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVCHNuTO9cSkPPj4oT-vDjIubXUYt7DDmMulGzRXySqWBrEje8lky7qhyphenhyphenuPu5FIRbIyX2mJs6pjEjKp2MukiDmpxmXGkz6L4pluJb_90Qsi8gYQ-oKTGDXt9NnjG3g2zCgMTJuLhthQiN/s320/Chambord2.JPG" /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q094cRNr7bNeIe6Lf0eWyhspFPpWZpWfdMgtUdADcRtCiqMUoGp97Kq2lhKN37xFP75fLFPUlk0sj08ZzZILUmOS0iYx_LYDVLiZh1fgOpdbGXwpFXqyp-cmLcD9xnKy0HjJB4EZX-fa/s1600/Chambord3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508260194539786802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q094cRNr7bNeIe6Lf0eWyhspFPpWZpWfdMgtUdADcRtCiqMUoGp97Kq2lhKN37xFP75fLFPUlk0sj08ZzZILUmOS0iYx_LYDVLiZh1fgOpdbGXwpFXqyp-cmLcD9xnKy0HjJB4EZX-fa/s320/Chambord3.JPG" /></a></p><p align="center">Top of the double helix staircase</p><p align="left">The chateau was intended as a hunting lodge (a very extravagant one). Francois I never lived at the chateau and only spent 72 days there.<br /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErDueuffgURUmamrxSgB1Bu6jUA6HlLxGxOxSygXMDHRg2fOoIburYkD3DJfFcCuVSW8qSIFY1oAPJcJHs2h9SCQd-R1nZml2GGTeYqsA8Y2RJzcRdO3VWbJlA7JbIsmYPqCUk1I3Vr-k/s1600/Chambord4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508260189798895890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErDueuffgURUmamrxSgB1Bu6jUA6HlLxGxOxSygXMDHRg2fOoIburYkD3DJfFcCuVSW8qSIFY1oAPJcJHs2h9SCQd-R1nZml2GGTeYqsA8Y2RJzcRdO3VWbJlA7JbIsmYPqCUk1I3Vr-k/s320/Chambord4.JPG" /></a></p><br />Chambord is surrounded by a 5440 hectare national game reserve which is enclosed by a 32km long wall. It is the largest enclosed forest park in Europe. The animals living within the park are completely wild. Hunting in the park is reserved for the highest politicians of France.<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij__JLb0K82hpFbgXj1bOMlHqXneEVObm48ATwfYpFXHdnHAqalnuMLZyq9i22BdZUmqJSmN7_laqAEIWGkH2pGEKpt0SvrH9hOrdKX71OEIOJMMklbzBaDu8xfwt-gCox_E_eqLVeWe0I/s1600/Chambord5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508260183216328994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij__JLb0K82hpFbgXj1bOMlHqXneEVObm48ATwfYpFXHdnHAqalnuMLZyq9i22BdZUmqJSmN7_laqAEIWGkH2pGEKpt0SvrH9hOrdKX71OEIOJMMklbzBaDu8xfwt-gCox_E_eqLVeWe0I/s320/Chambord5.JPG" /></a></p><br />The trip to Chambord was a long day, yet really fun. Judith, Sayumi, and I took a 40min train to Blois, waited an hour, and then took a ~30min bus ride to Chambord. Our bus driver was a female who wore a sundress and heels...nice!<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YuGoOvyAOd8pBRKXh9WT2rTHUHTxF1vu4pzp5R0y0pmpxc62ZZYeaweTqz545Ha7I7dzRxie24ilkU2115YVov1GeRhaIkpMSse3ZYlsO0sjFO2maHSuuf5q0VBeki8Kq-uEMp3PYkJu/s1600/Chambord6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508260178800222866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YuGoOvyAOd8pBRKXh9WT2rTHUHTxF1vu4pzp5R0y0pmpxc62ZZYeaweTqz545Ha7I7dzRxie24ilkU2115YVov1GeRhaIkpMSse3ZYlsO0sjFO2maHSuuf5q0VBeki8Kq-uEMp3PYkJu/s320/Chambord6.JPG" /></a></p><p align="center"><em>Sayumi, Judith, et moi!</em></p>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1153322629607834674.post-70134423507224567812010-08-22T06:55:00.000-07:002010-08-22T09:04:00.435-07:00Les Sables d’OlonneLike the rest of the country, Martine has <em>Les Vacances</em> for three weeks in August. France practically comes to a halt during this month as everyone is either at the beach or in another country. In Tours, many of the shops have little hand written signs in the windows stating which weeks they are closed in Augsut. I would like to try some of the best Patisseries in town, but, too bad, they’re closed right now. Martine would also like to clear her upstairs apartment of the insects that have taken over making it uninhabitable, but <em>tant pis</em>, it can’t be done until <em>Les Vacances</em> are over.<br /><br />Martine began her vacation on Friday. To kick it off, she decided to take Ayumi, her son (Pierre), and I to the coast for a 4 day vacation. She said we would go to Les Sables D’Olonne by train, and we would leave on Sunday. That meant I would miss three days of language school. I actually started thinking, “Oh my goodness, I can’t miss school!”, and then remembered the point of this trip to France...to do whatever I want.<br /><br />At 7:30am on Sunday (which is now unbelievable early for me) Ayumi, Martine, and I walked the ten minutes to the train station and met Pierre there. This was my fourth time taking the train, and I really like it. It’s not as fast as driving (unless you take the TGV), but it is such an easy way to travel. Once you get the system down for buying your tickets, finding the platform, and making sure you’re on the right train, it’s seems pretty simple. I know, it’s not always simple though; my parents have a few horror stories. In fact, on the return trip to Tours we ended up taking the wrong train which was also going to Tours but by an indirect route, so we were 50min late getting home. Anyways, it took us 5 hours to get to Les Sables d’Olonne. By car it would have been maybe 3, but we would have had to deal with the vacation traffic.<br /><br />The vacation was fantastic. The town and beach are gorgeous. Before we left, Martine told me the town would be “<em>tres tres petite</em>”, but I think we have different ideas of petite. The beach is lined with large, modern apartment buildings for at least a mile. Once you walk a block from the beach though, you’re surrounded by gorgeous old houses lined up wall to wall on tiny winding streets just large enough for cars to pass through. Many of the streets are even too small for cars, and the town is home to the smallest street in the world. It’s just as wide as my shoulders and called <em>Rue de l’Enfer</em> (Street of Hell).<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz88jJNCYLqr-1dljrdo2ZoKzbe0GgJG9SuCAKKoOFPrrxmmlQzahQfqYKqYuMO9ASVUeZFHzfNmydYQ_tMGDIdVi0gtuYy-dcBlZcxuiFmmn-7Zs9CGdT1g0pCJLyoCTWU2B-6rmdjIrm/s1600/SDO1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508235921666293762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz88jJNCYLqr-1dljrdo2ZoKzbe0GgJG9SuCAKKoOFPrrxmmlQzahQfqYKqYuMO9ASVUeZFHzfNmydYQ_tMGDIdVi0gtuYy-dcBlZcxuiFmmn-7Zs9CGdT1g0pCJLyoCTWU2B-6rmdjIrm/s320/SDO1.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508235927438481474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMXps0khpAYHKABLnm2BI_oufBxVc-mlDMIkYrXAjmhXcS5Y3RjtiA2YwZQ1kSrPQyPnmF0QaDthUpxMlpohsh5_n1WxSNv0dBh9HJd0JkWVPG2qCd9eWGyKHTdET1cNvTcVSlkd1OZDV7/s320/SDO2.JPG" /><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYS8euIZhp2kSysfQfWbfN-IRLTc3fbrXLwH9Ef1YK7fRpMShusvY4TQiH73EO6TNRBb8OBDK5WvWSsioWfdib5AJ7ON6-5FappoOQlJbk_Av2-tak0NFKxoxkAe0lXidn8BRhNVAAIThg/s1600/SDO3.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508235934050512370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYS8euIZhp2kSysfQfWbfN-IRLTc3fbrXLwH9Ef1YK7fRpMShusvY4TQiH73EO6TNRBb8OBDK5WvWSsioWfdib5AJ7ON6-5FappoOQlJbk_Av2-tak0NFKxoxkAe0lXidn8BRhNVAAIThg/s320/SDO3.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><em>Rue de l'Enfer</em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEAlm_UH5LSs-R3jxlW90dMcC20CGvl-t4gGNNusk0wHy0xKuPFu4nGygsv2Yhjm4YXGbz9eFAOA7oFD6Ewq7WXRqcgXPgtLfjcJFbK73QqAy88F5Wr_CPk2-bVu2DBwtU6H5FRebo1ySA/s1600/SDO4.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508235936929532514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEAlm_UH5LSs-R3jxlW90dMcC20CGvl-t4gGNNusk0wHy0xKuPFu4nGygsv2Yhjm4YXGbz9eFAOA7oFD6Ewq7WXRqcgXPgtLfjcJFbK73QqAy88F5Wr_CPk2-bVu2DBwtU6H5FRebo1ySA/s320/SDO4.JPG" /></a></div><div align="center"><em>Rue de l'Enfer</em></div><div><br />Martine found us the coolest hotel called <em>Maison Richet</em>. It’s in one of the old French houses and has a typical facade of white plaster and pale blue shutters. There is a courtyard in the middle with palms, a fountain, and lots of patio furniture which makes a tranquil setting for breakfast and lounging around.<br /></div><div></div><div></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOQATRwAYYeBj-fUdmOOq5qA_0g9TI-G-jeDQS6cWDIKk4xGjtrTs9eqd94ptn7ZAaaLD8-EuC7RhZZhVkW84mJqXWH5Y1m263qQdmf88NITKixtxnSzrVRJOM03GW1J0NrhrepURbcuV/s1600/SDO5.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508235949659273074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOQATRwAYYeBj-fUdmOOq5qA_0g9TI-G-jeDQS6cWDIKk4xGjtrTs9eqd94ptn7ZAaaLD8-EuC7RhZZhVkW84mJqXWH5Y1m263qQdmf88NITKixtxnSzrVRJOM03GW1J0NrhrepURbcuV/s320/SDO5.JPG" /></a></p><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXWWGqIQrV36xX_lBXDr3cD08IOmYxB1ab3pKaUbZ0lEhkKhr8smIC8ZLseIVO0gm7tMr-9622HVIPuM0bn3UyzG7zwdXzRh1ELIJwOtZjhHrqUV08URXdu2r8jErSaIAJewstCVslKw9/s1600/SDO6.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508236243329915186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXWWGqIQrV36xX_lBXDr3cD08IOmYxB1ab3pKaUbZ0lEhkKhr8smIC8ZLseIVO0gm7tMr-9622HVIPuM0bn3UyzG7zwdXzRh1ELIJwOtZjhHrqUV08URXdu2r8jErSaIAJewstCVslKw9/s320/SDO6.JPG" /></a></p><p align="center">Pierre & Martine</p><div><br />We spent each day at the beach. We arrived a little late in the afternoon the first day, and the wind had already picked up. Not to be discouraged though, we marched out to the beach to commence <em>le bronze</em>. Martine, ever elegant, stretched herself out on the sand in her zebra print maillot de bain. Meanwhile, Ayumi and I already had goose bumps from the wind. I decided I would try to grin and bear it, but eventually ended up wearing my cardigan over my bikini. Pierre wore his uniform to the beach – slacks, dress shirt, loafers, dress socks, and a silk scarf, which did not prove to be that practical for trudging through the sand. He did strip down for tanning though. <em>Evidemment</em>, there were a plethora of speedos and even some <em>monokinis</em> (topless women).</div><div></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRDL6TviilQfhe8DM8xA3gH0ef9av5408iUs5ATiVATRYrcsKJ6YW5OxAi_AX-EjaoFyG9hc1_x4P_pMA5ULphhBMlAoFH-Wy95CR_JWVZm4RM70U-5pjPH7FSgygYglwp5YNWrOQLw1k/s1600/SDO7.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508236246642111298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRDL6TviilQfhe8DM8xA3gH0ef9av5408iUs5ATiVATRYrcsKJ6YW5OxAi_AX-EjaoFyG9hc1_x4P_pMA5ULphhBMlAoFH-Wy95CR_JWVZm4RM70U-5pjPH7FSgygYglwp5YNWrOQLw1k/s320/SDO7.JPG" /></a></p><div><br />The second and third days were warmer. The third day was even warm enough to swim, although I was the only one who thought so. Everyone else thought it was too cold to get in farther than waist deep. Ayumi said I was “super mega cool” for swimming in the ocean. Personally, I’ve always thought so. It was nice to finally have someone agree.<br /></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1Lg48Vsvp_UUvuymqtFgRQjuiboebeF7hn4I4EsdF6JGlPZguW8TAVrOVfDCS3PgTTu6uQaIHvFtl_QmZjOsdTxQtBWCmpq50mrw1WfVZAbGCA28aQkSao8K2KX4SHHFDzxlQLWKfkmZ/s1600/SDO8.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508236251549320546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1Lg48Vsvp_UUvuymqtFgRQjuiboebeF7hn4I4EsdF6JGlPZguW8TAVrOVfDCS3PgTTu6uQaIHvFtl_QmZjOsdTxQtBWCmpq50mrw1WfVZAbGCA28aQkSao8K2KX4SHHFDzxlQLWKfkmZ/s320/SDO8.JPG" /></a></p><div><br />We ate all our meals out, except for breakfast which was provided by the hotel. The most exciting meal for me was <em>tartare de boeuf</em>, which I tried for the first time the second night! Pierre ordered it the first night, which I later found out was the first time he had ever tried it. The raw beef was served with an egg yolk on top and three condiments to the side – shallots, capers, and something else I can’t remember. Worcestershire sauce, salt, pepper, and mustard were also provided. Martine said it was “obligatory” to mix it all into the beef. I followed her advice, and it was surprisingly delicious! <em>Frites</em> were also provided on the side.<br /><br />The other fun thing about the meals was watching Martine and Pierre choose the wine for dinner. We typically bought a bottle to share, and much discussion went into what’s chosen. I’m impressed by how well they know the wines from each region in France. </div><div></div><div>And that’s it! The fourth day, we packed up and took the train home. Upon returning, I felt rejuvenated and ready to continue my vacation in Tours! </div><div></div><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDj3Qwt0npagVBvgrh7g6f2dfdIEtEkC57YoozYutSGQc7qIAxltUKdc02WmkjGrP-VWuw9ODOSVUJPB0f_kLo6fclIK7sQ34Fh4M3Ndd5HmHcSfvfZOtSkA_Os7kgkryepeub9M0i3q1j/s1600/SDO9.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508236259498486114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDj3Qwt0npagVBvgrh7g6f2dfdIEtEkC57YoozYutSGQc7qIAxltUKdc02WmkjGrP-VWuw9ODOSVUJPB0f_kLo6fclIK7sQ34Fh4M3Ndd5HmHcSfvfZOtSkA_Os7kgkryepeub9M0i3q1j/s320/SDO9.JPG" /></a></p><p align="center">Martine, Pierre, & Ayumi</p></div></div></div></div></div></div>Annie Plankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15045800312490356043noreply@blogger.com0