After the storm, some calm

Let me first begin by apologizing to those of you who have eagerly awaited updates from Grenoble. The time that has passed between now and when I wrote my last post has seemed to me something of an eternity. After finally collecting my thoughts from the first portion of my trip, I felt confident that I would be able to update my blog on a regular basis. However, this past month has unravelled quiet differently than I had expected. A series of pretty remarkable occurrences - some good and some bad - have really disoriented me. Only this very week have I begun to feel as though I've recovered and am back on my feet.

Unfortunately, I don't think I will be able to recollect the last month with the same amount of clarity that I did the first month. Since I last blogged, I have travelled extensively. I have visited Avignon, Chartreuse, Tours, Dijon, Beaune, and Milan. I will try my hardest to give a meaningful, if not exhaustive account of these trips. Luckily for me, my very beautiful girlfriend with whom I have shared many adventures with is also a thoughtful and disciplined blogger. If you are eager to fill in the gaps of my narrative, I encourage you to visit her blog.

I left off in my last blog about to depart for Avignon. For those unfamiliar with this city, it is a medium sized town in the Provence region of France. Provence is in the South of France, far sunnier and warmer than Alpine Grenoble. Caryne and I decided to visit this small town in order to indulge in our historical dorkiness. During the 14th century, after a series of calamitous events in Italy, the Papacy decided to move from Rome to Avignon. Avignon was the seat of 7 different popes, and the "Palais des Papes" (Palace of the Popes) still stands today. The "Great Schism" as historians call was a crucial, if not slightly odd period of European history. I would be lying if I said that the warmer Provence climate didn't at least partially contribute to our decision to take a day trip. Caryne arrived in Grenoble on a Friday night, and on Saturday we departed on train to Avignon for the day. My friend Shalini also joined us. The Palais was a pretty remarkable thing to see. I have a theory that there are really two kinds of Europe: "magical Europe" and "real Europe." Magical Europe is the Europe of fairytale; the Europe of castles and knights. When I arrived in Europe, I expected all to be magical. This had sort of been my experience in Torgau, Germany during my summer exchange programs in high school. Since I had arrived in France, however, I had not yet experienced this "magical Europe." In France, I had been awakened to the fact that Europe was far more "real" than "magical." In Avignon, however, I felt connected with the historical Europe in a way I had not in Paris or London or Grenoble. This was slightly qualified by the fact that the Palais des Papes was essentially an empty building, devoid of furnishings of the Middle Ages. In either case, I really enjoyed visiting such a historic building. After the Palais, we went to the neighboring building, which hosted an extensive collection of Italian religious art painting from the 14th-17th centuries. I'm shocked to say that out of all the art museums I've visited (included the Louvre and the d'Orsy), this was my favorite.

One incident of note in Avignon: after visiting the museum of religious art, Shalini, Caryne and I took a small rest in the courtyard of the Palais de Papes. While we were sitting, we saw a group of young French teenagers breakdancing right in front of the Palais. Watching teenagers breakdancing in front of the seat of Medieval European Christendom was incredibly amusing, and strangely characteristic of modern France. After taking a rest, we visited the famous "Pont de Avignon," which is of almost no historic significance, but has gained notoriety as the topic of a famous French song (think "London Bridge is Falling Down," but en Francais.) As I stated above, Caryne has a more extensive account of our trip to Avignon on her blog, if you care for more nitty-gritty details.

The week after our trip to Avignon was one of the more traumatizing of my recent years. Caryne departed from Grenoble to Paris, and from Paris to England. I meanwhile stayed in Grenoble, and starting on Tuesday morning, became progressively more and more ill. By either Wednesday night or Thursday morning, I was extremely ill. Nothing terribly serious, luckily, but probably one of the least enjoyable sicknesses of the last 10 years. I don't remember having gotten this sick since I was a little boy. I became terribly nauseous, and unable to keep anything down. I was completely bedridden for a couple of days. At the height of my sickness, the API director set up an appointment at a French doctors office. My host mom Nicole drove me the doctors and dropped me off in the front, leaving me to my own highly impaired devices. I somehow stumbled up the stairs, only about half-conscience, and proceeded to lay down sprawled out in the middle of the doctor's office. When the doctor was finally able to see me, I stumbled into her office, and quickly realized she spoke very little English. In order to make it clear what was wrong in my broken French, I pointed to my stomach and said "c'est triste", or "it is sad." I think she got the message, and gave me a very odd examination which involved her messaging my stomach. The entire ordeal is something of a blur to me, as I was completely and totally delirious in the office. The director of API came and picked me up after the appointment, and I do literally mean "picked me up." She had to help me back down the stairs, and I am confident I would have not made it back down alone. She ran into a pharmacy, got the drugs for me, and rushed me back home. She made sure I got the medicine downs, and put me in my bed. The next thing I remember, I woke up about 7 hours later after some of the deepest sleep I've ever had. I can't quiet describe my state after I woke up. I was pretty conscious, but almost completely unable to move. Not wanting to fight my body, I went back to sleep for about 3 hours. I finally woke up at around 10 o'clock at night, and felt like a new person. The worst of my sickness had passed. That night was pretty terrible, however, as I was completely unable to sleep, and I just resigned myself to watching episodes of "Curb Your Enthusiasm." As odd as it sounds, I really credit the genius expression of Jewish-American life that is "Curb Your Enthusiasm" with helping me work through my sickness. That night, having experienced a really awful sickness in a foreign country, I felt very very far away from home. "Curb," however, brought me a little closer to home. So, Larry David, if you are reading this, thank you for helping me overcome a pretty awful experience.

It may go without saying, but the stomach virus almost completely quelled any desire I had to stay in Europe for a long time. After recovering from my sickness, I could really only focus on how badly I wanted to leave France and come back to the United States. This was a sentiment that stayed with me for a couple of weeks, but has luckily passed.

The timeline for the next couple of weeks is slightly hazy for me right now, and I'll go back and check. The weekend after my sickness, I took a trip to the Chartreuse mountains with API. Here we got to see where the famous liquor is made, and also visited a monastery. This trip was a nice way to get out of Grenoble for a couple of hours, after having just spent the previous couple of days bedridden. The rest of the weekend I took very easy, resting and watching TV and making sure I was completely recovered. By Monday, I felt 100%.

The weekend proceeding my trip to Chartreuse, Caryne and I took our first excursion together (excluding Avignon, which was only a day trip). We decided to go to Tours, which is a small city situated right in the heart of the Loire Valley. What makes Tours an exceptional place to visit isn't the city itself (although it is lovely), but it's proximity to some of the finest and most elegant Chateaux in all of France. The Loire Valley was a strategic location in the Middle Ages and Early Modern period, and the King's of France (and their advisers) would travel from chateaux to chateaux, bringing the entire apparatus of state with them. In Tours, we visited 3 of the most famous chateaux; Chenonceau, Villandry, and Azay. Again, I would direct you to Caryne's blog for specific details about this excursion, but I will try and provide my own brief description. Tours itself is a odd city. It is a very old and historic city, but has developed something of an urban sprawl which contrasts quiet markedly with its lovely medieval neighborhood. Medieval Tours is where our hostel was located, and where we spent most of our time. The half timbered buildings and small streets were perfect examples of the so called "magical Europe." Very little of our time was spent in the city; we spent most outside in the different Chateaux. On Saturday, we went to Chenonceau, which is probably the most famous in France. It was absolutely gorgeous, "achingly beautiful" as one travel guide described it. There is the main house, which was once used by Catherine de Medici as the location from which she ruled France as a regent, and a bridge the spans the river and connects the main building with the forest on the other side. One interesting thing about the building was that, during World War II, the river it spanned marked the border between Nazi France and "Free" Vichy France. One side of the building was located in Nazi occupied France, and the other in Vichy. Again, I found this juxtaposition of modern history and medieval/Renaissance history utterly fascinating. The interior and exterior of this Chateaux were the most interesting of the 3 we visited I believe. It is a must see for anyone who finds themselves lucky enough to be in the Loire Valley. Also, the audio tour (which was conducted on an ipod video) was the best audio tour I've ever taken. If I had to pick a Chateaux to live in, it would absolutely be Chenonceau. After we visited Chenonceau, we spent a little time exploring Tours. We went to this very campy guild museum, which had the "masterpieces" of trades craftsman. The coolest thing I saw there was a copy of the famous Hospice de Beanue made completely of noodles. It was a very eccentric museum, but tons of fun. Afterwards, we stumbled into an old church of St. Martin. This was one of the most odd experiences of my time in Europe thus far. We weren't exactly sure what was in this particular church, but signs that said "Crypt" fed our curiosity. Eventually, we wandered into a small room on a lower floor of the church, and came across about 3 nuns praying very intently. After looking around and spotting a picture of Pope John Paul II praying in the very room we were standing, we realized we were probably some place important. It eventually dawned on us that we were at the supposed grave of St. Martin, the person credited with first bringing Christianity to France. Only in France can you randomly stumble into the grave of a saint.

On Sunday, we visited Villandry (famous for its gardens) and Azay (the quintessential "fairy tale" castle). We took these two trips with a tour group, run by a very quirky and odd French man who had lived for several years in Canada. He had the accent of a French Canadian trying to speak English. Villandry had an amazing garden, although it was not yet in bloom. Villandry was also particularly interesting because it was inhabited by a family in the 20th century (the matriarch of the family was an American who attend Bryn Mawr college). The chateaux, although built during the Middle Ages, was preserved to look like it did when occupied in the 20th century. I was very interested in this presentation of the building, as it reminded me that these Chateaux remained living, breathing buildings well past the 17th century. By the time we arrived at Azay, we were already getting a bit exhausted. The interior was interesting (although not as much as Chenonceau). What really made Azay special was its exquisite architecturally design; it was a very harmonious and graceful building. After Azay, we returned to the city and departed back to Grenoble and Paris.

The week following Tours was no less uneventful than the previous weeks. On Monday night that following week, I was invited to dinner with the Ettingers, a Jewish couple who lived in center-city Grenoble. They also invited me to a Purim service at the synagogue in Grenoble. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Purim, it is the Jewish holiday commemorating Queen Esther's foiling of Hayman's plan to kill all the Jews. It is a very festive and lively holiday, something of a Jewish version of Carnival. I met the Ettinger's at the synagogue, which is in downtown Grenoble. As I was looking around for the synagogue, I met an elderly lady who was also en route. I asked the lady "ou est le synagouge," but apparently I was mispronouncing the word synagogue and she could not understand me. After a couple attempts, I asked her instead "Ou est l'eglise Juif" (where is the Jewish Church), and apparently my pronouncing of eglise was slightly better. As it happened, she was also going to the synagogue, so I walked with her, speaking French along the way. When I first walked in to the synagogue, I had not yet met the family, and was slightly overwhelmed, as the synagogue was orthodox, and the people were speaking only Hebrew and French. Luckily, the woman whom I had walked with introduced me, and explained to everyone that I was an American student studying in Grenoble. Soon after, a very lovely man named Marc Michel came over and introduced himself in perfect English. We spoke for awhile, and he told me that he grew up in Grenoble, but now lives half the year in Sarasota, Florida (the same place where my own grandparents spend the same half the year!) I can't even begin to express how comforting it was to meet Mr. Michel; he made me feel completely at home, and sat with me during the service.

After the service, I met the Ettingers and dined at there house. It was a very lovely dinner, and I was very appreciative to have been invited. We spoke for upwards of 3 hours about French politics, history, and society, and European Jewry. Mr. Ettinger was born a Jew in Nazi occupied Grenoble. This was a pretty amazing thing for me to realize. He is about the same age as my own grandfather, and it was very startling for me to realize how recently the Nazi's had occupied the very city I am now living. I found the Ettingers to be a very lovely and caring couple, and relished in the opportunity to eat with them.

For a variety of reasons outside any one's control, I decided that it would be best for my experience in France if I moved. This was a pretty agonizing decision for me, and I did not come about it easily. The Leenhardt family was extremely hospitable, and I truly welcoming me into their home. However, I ultimately made the decision to move in with the Ettingers (who had a room to rent). This all happened at a very rapid pace, and I moved in with the Ettingers on the Friday afternoon proceeding my first dinner with them. It was very nice to be with the Ettingers on Sabbath. They made a great dinner, which they invited me too, and we celebrated the Sabbath together. The Ettingers are shomer sabbath, meaning they do not use any electricity on Sabbath. It was a very interesting experience to celebrate with them, and after dinner we all sat together and read on the sofa.

I think I've reached my peak amount of writing for today. Tomorrow, I'll write about my trip to Burgundy, my trip to Milan, and some general feelings about living in center city Grenoble.

(P.S. Please excuse my last post about the Jackson 5. I believe I wrote that just as my sickness was coming on, when I was in something of a delirious state of consciousness).