tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30685950362844934562024-02-18T23:01:03.301-05:00Bathshaeba on a BicycleUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-20551679453442302112010-09-13T14:29:00.009-04:002012-01-29T17:36:47.082-05:00<div style="text-align: left;">Damn. I am such a good procrastinator.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I've been in Montreal since early August, and I just now dropped off a CV to get a job. Yup, that's right, one CV at one place. I printed up the CV at least three weeks ago, perhaps even longer,and it had been sitting on my floor in a cardboard envelope since then. Now I am supposed to be going for a run, but I am writing this instead.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It is sunny now and I should be running and listening to my iPod (if I only listen to my iPod when I run, maybe I will run occassionally), but this morning it was not. Just as I was about to get into the shower so I could be presentable for my CV drop-off, it started to pour out. I went to Rachelle Bery Epicerie, an organice grocer chain in Quebec, IN THE POURING RAIN, but first I bought an umbrella, so at least I did that. I walked into RB (after a few deep breaths) and got so nervous I almost thought I was going to walk straight out again. It is really hard to be calm and collected in a foreign language that you still don't understand very well. I asked one of the cashiers if there was someone to speak to--mostly because my CV is shit, but maybe it was just as well that there was no one, because I was making NO grammatical sense as I spoke with her. I dropped of the CV, gave her my disponibilité, and walked out knowing I'd never work there. Whatever,they don't have bulk.</div><div><br />
</div><div><p>Then, because today is all about PRODUCTIVITY, I went to the CEGEP up the street from my house and asked about FLS classes--Français Langue Second. The woman there was really, really nice, my French was nearly flawless (ha!) and she even said, 'You speak French very well...' That had me grinning like the Cheshire while I walked in the the still pouring rain back home. Then I stopped off at a libarie-papeterie to buy an ink pad--they only had black and blue, but I am glad I chose blue. I then ate toast at home and stamped the backs of my latest plan-for-an-income-that-doesn't-involve-CVs-or-real-jobs. <br />
<style="text-align: left;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdBnOsMfCsC7i-r7zo-G0_yS2RQzF283yuTwcX65cApilc2D36FJdDIoGhyphenhyphen7TuTvH3KP9IF66Tc2cOvunHTNrpoVruO3PMd7ken2fg2d20c0AVc68pAd9J2jKBgUAuAtx38FfZVeAdTs9U/s320/Sept+2010+039.JPG" /></p></div><div style="text-align: right;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBCj_OXf2nMu2FusF_s-xAVt4aDHIFMM7UYc8-xP7sj-E6k704gX2FJvINBsNXGtsMnr7G8UWw4m5cKLnGDmj6HtbABk_mGjeaxFEt5AKlHa0Qf1Qhu77AEkXmzoI3lo2gG16Ky4seSBQ/s320/Sept+2010+050.JPG" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmoJmQTnQxIyuRjoXtWAO3mft_3yPCP2wE7jZLJw4WRTOOqVReck1D9g9fdtdaKQTAbg3rmo8kI4rbwq4w1lGpersXB-kvu4iTc51NbBPQJTm9hYR4XQLW77Dq2u4GT08bLhV5pR-VFMm/s320/Sept+2010+051.JPG" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Book pockets I made back in Vancouver. They were fun to make,</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> and I have loads more to do. I've started getting them ready to sell </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">just by stamping them. I have a bunch of other little things to decide</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> about, like what info to add onto them, price, and whether to add </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">double sided tape so they can be mounted onto </span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">something-</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">-</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">the inside of a journal, say--or to add magnets </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">so they can be</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> hung on the frigo.</span></i></div><div></div><div>Oh, and didn't go for a run, which is what I was supposed to do first. But I had to wait for my iPod to load up Holy Fuck, because they are running with me, and also I *had*</div><div>to spend half an hour hair-drying the paint off the wood trim around thedoorway into the kitchen. </div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg00RW0MqmC6-yjllypk_t3HLaLFhWHuOfV5qDdm_GspVwJufm0ZwH-kV53VT4VFalmRcNRTpm3w6CJtc8KFvSWbQXaGZNY4VD82rR9-vzeHp5wtlSrkIpsSofpBQ49v8Y0Z9q2UOMvN-ID/s320/Sept+2010+049.JPG" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">It really is like a hairdryer. It makes the paint </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">blister and is a really slow process. But I prefer it</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">to chemicals.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></div><div>Tomorrow, instead of reading my readings for class (but I will at least look at the lectures for Wednesday and even read the lab stuff for 617--or is it 615?) I am going to help paint our dining room 'whipped yolk', or, you know, whatever that pale yellow, nearly beige colour is. I've decided that I've been stressing about school for several reasons, but I wonder how many there actually are:</div><div></div><div style="text-align: left;">1. I am worried I am procrasting and that there will come a day--say in two weeks--when I completely freak out and realise that I am SUPER behind and there is no WAY I can catch up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyWdugjEqrQ9hyjfmEl4V-T-UGwHvyPDX0DvgEV0Zc4OTAqwZEsOKWjBX1nskbo976AW3yRH4WlIHDr5e5pr5pZ0PwqFmv2RfOcJkdje1TyvjC3kaodOdAO-6gapV2Ou-HokN1KoFmb4gX/s320/Sept+2010+047.JPG" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Instead of reading the other day, I made this! </span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Cute, huh? </span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">It's a </span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">licorice candy </span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">box from either </span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Finland or Sweden--who can remember?</span></span></i></div><div><i>
</i></div><div>But:</div><div></div><div>2. Most of my classes are incredibly boring and the readings I have to do are so dull that they actually make me LIVID that I am wasting my LIFE reading them. But then I remembered that several people had commented that not only were they not going to do the readings, they noticed (and I did to) that reading the readings is unitarded* because the professors just re-read the readings in class, and if you think reading something INCREDIBLY DULL is fun, try having someone read dull material you've already read to you in a monotonous voice in a dark room just after you had lunch and a pint of really dark Scottish beer. Thank god (or something) that not all the classes are like this.</div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">* I say 'retarded' way too much. So I told a friend of mine that I was going to start saying 'leotarded', like Dan Savage, who was critisized for using 'retarded' too much, so instead he wrote 'leotarded'. Which is pretty retarded. But I think unitards are more unitarded than leotards, and also they make me think of those shameful things, onesies, which cyclists and people with too much misguided style who shop at American Apparel wear. But my friend liked it because 'uni' for her was more like 'university', which is also dumber than hell, so 'unitarded' it is. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></div><div>3. I also realised that I am feeling impotent at my procrastination because I can't actually DO anything about the projects I have been assigned because I'm either waiting to find out what the topic for the presentation is, waiting to get in touch with the partners I have been assigned, or waiting for the next stage of the project to be revealed. Therefore I am not even procrastinating because there isn't anything to put off doing, so really I am just worrying about nothing. Basically I am a chicken running around with her head cut off, except her head is perfectly intact and a crowd is gathering to gawk at the spectacle. </div><div></div><div>Also not helping the situation is that instead of sleeping, I am knitting.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVO5X6yE1TVnugU25izNDwdYt8TD7SqzWZExiwMv6WThHXb4xFNyG4BEvSpNKjs_sV-pUMtgftx5pNn_nh1u3pI5RJ2oyWG0oPk_xXUT7VmaO-6rSyjq_qrkEwgOrPgeKLAxSgDRhl6Qpj/s320/Sept+2010+052.JPG" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I totally scored at the second-hand store down the street from me. </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I got a huge amount of beautiful wool--real wool--for incre</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">dibly cheap.</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">This multicoloured stuff is scratchy, so I'm pretty sure </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">it's</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> mohair,</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">or some sort of a blend. I think I meant to make it</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> a little longer so that </span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">it could be worn to midway up the palm, </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">but tant pis. I </span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">can always</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">change it later. I really</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> needed to</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> liberate the knitting</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> needles so that I</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">could start on a hat</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">--in white lambswool--</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">since my head has been getting</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">cold in the early evenings. Maybe I'll do that </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">instead of going for a run...</span></i></div><div></div><div>Also, school is just getting in the way of exploring Montreal. If I wasn't going to school, I'd be (procrastinating about) signing up for French classes, finding a cool, low-paying job in some unique little café or something where I get to meet interesting people. I'd be (procrastinating about) trying harder to find a place to sell my various made-objects, and maybe even making more.</div><div></div><div>I think the best way to overcome procrastination is to have a whole list of pressing things to do, so that you can get the not-so-pressing ones done, or, you know, not do anything.</div><div></div><div>So, since it isn't raining again yet, maybe I'll get that run in. Or maybe I'll just make tea.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-16167976703536858172010-08-26T23:36:00.004-04:002010-08-27T00:01:41.851-04:00Mattress Day!<div>Adrien and I went to Ikea today--Adrien is a hero. I don't know that many people who would sacrifice most of one of their days off to go to Ikea. I've only been to Ikea about three times (that being about three times too many), and I always get an instant headache as soon as I walk in. However, I was super excited to have a mattress, so headaches (and cheap, unsustainable furniture) be damned!</div><div><br /></div><div>We got it into my room (after rather divine burgers at le paryse) and I got down to allen keys and the jigsaw puzzle.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuiOfHX0bbktrZbZY4UWFNr2Q7878UXoEyPo5tR8Wjx1bNILd8Y87uAgj3yC1QDldWTlkNYtB0dPuav54kh6i0Hy0EoEEiE4rORTmk9J3TKwjtq4ehpFv8xD8ZCjnv1KkiyPi85w1ubwc/s1600/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+004.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuiOfHX0bbktrZbZY4UWFNr2Q7878UXoEyPo5tR8Wjx1bNILd8Y87uAgj3yC1QDldWTlkNYtB0dPuav54kh6i0Hy0EoEEiE4rORTmk9J3TKwjtq4ehpFv8xD8ZCjnv1KkiyPi85w1ubwc/s200/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509931970228733010" /></a><div><br /></div><div>I have no idea what Ikea was getting at with this. There's no need to translate things that don't make sense, so I suppose they saved money on hiring translators. And the gender-inspecific ghost people are supposed to be neutral everything, so no one gets offended while being completely puzzled. I do wish I could speak tool, though, like the in the first panel...</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjuiOfHX0bbktrZbZY4UWFNr2Q7878UXoEyPo5tR8Wjx1bNILd8Y87uAgj3yC1QDldWTlkNYtB0dPuav54kh6i0Hy0EoEEiE4rORTmk9J3TKwjtq4ehpFv8xD8ZCjnv1KkiyPi85w1ubwc/s1600/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+004.JPG"></a><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5V13xQIPXVbp6TFWZeUQCM0d08v7kz5yCjM5DsRK3VnV1R_J2nbIKDJJ6F03bNhLWvwjmmPxf9djq5kGJKHRQGR0TQuwKiktbmdDnvVAp4HPdjBwKhabhXQ4c0lBHURTAFz2aor88aAnA/s200/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+006.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Alright, so, even though I think the neuter ghost was meaning I should do this assembly with someone, after ten minutes, I had the headboard together. <br /><div><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_TCruD01o01CfqOSkudNmJLM5YSI5qbF1WY_xJiPeRFWdRhJutBLz8lii6LMz8yw5gXGN-t1uADSHH19ISDpe8Tbt5_0BXFb6vNriiRdSvXOzS21kVS6Z2u4hiijt1IKTgJ6e2K7ytO2/s200/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+005.JPG" /><div><br /></div><div>Which lead to the first modification. The vertical bits were cut too big for the design. The bed is meant to have an off-set top bar, but the bars were cut to fit a flush edge. I decided the vertical bars were more ornamental than structural, so I took them out. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAAqQ6ZaCxYpqOMCMkoKUdxnUrK8zQtS33dgSGO-5YRjCiMNqdzCjWoavRFotaScPg0_ty6Ksj7qzHlkwXeND_SukTKtCeW5zse6JhJ7deAJ5qcjSUA7v4LoTzEYsckwdMZ8mNC35VBe7H/s1600/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+007.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAAqQ6ZaCxYpqOMCMkoKUdxnUrK8zQtS33dgSGO-5YRjCiMNqdzCjWoavRFotaScPg0_ty6Ksj7qzHlkwXeND_SukTKtCeW5zse6JhJ7deAJ5qcjSUA7v4LoTzEYsckwdMZ8mNC35VBe7H/s200/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+007.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509931545460572946" /></a><div><br /></div><div>Everything went pretty well, even if the extra support legs that run down the centre of the bed don't touch the floor, rendering them rather useless, until I got to the slats. They are fine EXCEPT the cloth ribbon holding them all together was set too short, so the slats don't sit evenly, and don't hook onto the stays, so they may move around a bit under the mattress, though I hope not. I tried to just pull the ribbon off, but it was surprisingly strong, possibly the strongest part of the whole bed...</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAAqQ6ZaCxYpqOMCMkoKUdxnUrK8zQtS33dgSGO-5YRjCiMNqdzCjWoavRFotaScPg0_ty6Ksj7qzHlkwXeND_SukTKtCeW5zse6JhJ7deAJ5qcjSUA7v4LoTzEYsckwdMZ8mNC35VBe7H/s1600/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+007.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2r1OVKsdeyqRp-BptX5IsdwNNagxXyPCQLdHxMijM3Xv8H7VnRLs4TOJ57hVYQWvgjZ5FCpM3ps40st89mZ4hqkG2EYrbzpAaLphFz6Kymqe0RAs5bLQDdXPosSMdVVXe-dTv8hIqA2Kb/s1600/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+008.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2r1OVKsdeyqRp-BptX5IsdwNNagxXyPCQLdHxMijM3Xv8H7VnRLs4TOJ57hVYQWvgjZ5FCpM3ps40st89mZ4hqkG2EYrbzpAaLphFz6Kymqe0RAs5bLQDdXPosSMdVVXe-dTv8hIqA2Kb/s200/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+008.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509930516299948898" /></a><div><br /></div><div>Regardless, it's done! I think everyone already knows that Ikea does shitty designs, but for 50$, you get what you pay for. Now for my first good night's rest in about ten days. Thermarests are really meant for camping on soft-ish ground, not on hardwood!</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2r1OVKsdeyqRp-BptX5IsdwNNagxXyPCQLdHxMijM3Xv8H7VnRLs4TOJ57hVYQWvgjZ5FCpM3ps40st89mZ4hqkG2EYrbzpAaLphFz6Kymqe0RAs5bLQDdXPosSMdVVXe-dTv8hIqA2Kb/s1600/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+008.JPG"></a><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvAuMVb1CZan1VxbqyWYm-LGebIzT0vw_pIQan5aR1qhAlzm0bl36nceChQc28O1ddlE40b2A0kSSo5Qe0NOlnjs33RskSD78kB5av8TRXnCIn20RVMl0EhOxnEoFA6O2ICYtX5KAgZoY/s200/chambre+%C3%A0+Montr%C3%A9al+Ikea+009.JPG" /><br /><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-60917663133999666242010-08-21T21:28:00.001-04:002010-08-21T21:30:31.850-04:00I'm also blogging...on my other <a href="http://www.homemadetape.blogspot.com/">blog</a> (imagine!)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-55153920803554505152010-08-14T11:12:00.005-04:002010-08-14T12:18:47.290-04:00MontréalI admit that I am compulsive. A little obsessive. Who isn't? And if we aren't, we try to be. I can't seem to post about Montréal until I've finished with France. Order! It's important. And then the arranger in me shouts: shouldn't we start a new blog? One separate from my cycling travels in France, since the theme and reflection with be entirely different? I'd like to invite my inner librarian to go through the BOXES of half-filled (right--more like one-tenth-filled) notebooks and journals I have started on that impulse. Books for notes on bicycles, books for notes on recipes, on lists for shopping, on books, clothing patterns, knitting patterns, gardening, et cetera to the power of ten. I'm becoming a librarian because I'n NEUROTIC, but that doesn't mean I have to indulge the neurosis.<div><br /></div><div>Montréal...</div><div><br /></div><div>My last day in Paris was stressful. I wish I had taken a picture of my rudiculousness. But, imagine: One suitcase, two bike bags, one bike, a backpack, and a bike box. But wait, each item has a story, so let's go there...</div><div><br /></div><div>A few days before I left Paris, I headed to Montreuil, where there is a weekend marché aux puces. I had in mind an older suitcase to fit my smaller bike bags and clothing into, to make check-in at the airport easier. I went up on Saturday evening, just before it closed up, and wandered the stretch, and, as usual in Paris, chatting with the lonesomes. It's Paris, and it's a flea market, so everything was crawling. And you can buy pretty much anything here, from vintage clothing (nice stuff, but way too expensive. I recommend pawing through <a href="http://www.freepstar.com/">Free 'P' Star</a> in the Marais--and thanks to Lucy for the recommendation), to sewing notions, old bikes, 'antiques' (if one stretches the definition...) I didn't find anything that night; instead I went to the giant Carrefour and bought 1.5L of Orangina--it had been a while since I'd indulged that addiction.</div><div><br /></div><div>I went back early the next day and took my time. Military surplus? Nah. New, cheaply made, moderately inexpensive, rolling suitcases? Definitely not. At the end of the stretch, buried in the machine parts and the greasy antiques, I found what I was looking for. A green, faux leather suitcase. I found the guy selling it and asked the price. Ten euro. I handed him a ten euro note. 'You've got pretty eyes,' he said. 'Are you going on vacation?' </div><div>'No, I'm going back to Canada.'</div><div>'Oh! You're Canadian? Are you coming back to Paris?' </div><div>'Yeah, but I don't know when.' </div><div>'When you come back, come find me.' Then he handed me a two euro coin. 'Go have a coke on me.' </div><div><br /></div><div>The bike box I got from Toy's Paradise, just up the street from my hostel on Jules Ferry Boulevard. It was 10 Euro, and, well, let's go back to my last morning in Paris.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I put my new/old green suitcase on the rear rack, the bike bags on the side, the backpack on my shoulders, my purse over top of that, and the flattened bike box across my overloaded bike. It looked like a disaster. Then I started walking up to Gare du nord. It wasn't too bad, in fact it was easy, until I got to Gare du Nord. The Gare du Nord is a multi-leveled, multi-serviced train station. The metro, the SNCF and the RER all have terminals, all on different levels. I needed to descend, and, once I'd actually found the elevator--after dodging shakily all the arriving and departing streams of passengers--I discovered that boththe elevators were out of service. No info as to where to go to, just a desolée and maybe not even that. So then I found a guy collecting the bins who lead me around trying to find an alternative way down. He left me with directions to the service elevator, but when I asked the SNCF guys (perhaps I shouldn't have?), they told me there wasn't one. I didn't quite believe them, but one helped me down the stairs to the lower level, gave me a salute,and disappeared. Then I looked up and realised I had another level to go down to get to the RER. Long story short, it was getting late, and I was getting a headache.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once I made it to Charles de Gaulle, I had to stand in line for the elevator there. The slowest, most over-used elevator in the world. This thing makes the staff elevator at the central branch of VPL seem like rocket ship. I must have been standing there for at least 25 minutes, and I'm sure the actual elevator trip was 15. </div><div><br /></div><div>I found the general area in the airport I wanted to be in, then attempted to assemble my box. The box was in two pieces and gigantic. I didn't even have to take off both wheels to get the bike in, which was a bit of a blessing, because I was really struggling trying to get the pedals off. One came off easily enough, the other stayed on. Leaving the rear tire on meant my derailleur wasn't dangling and vulnerable. But at the British Airways counter, they decided the box was too big. So someone went off to find a ruler, then they had to measure the length and height, then call someone who had to check with someone else before I could get the go-ahead. Then it was extra to take the bike, but when I explained I had purchased my ticket a year ago and had brought the bike with me from Canada for free, they had to call someone else to decide what to do. Except the someone else was busy, so we had to wait for a call back. Meanwhile, I was certain my flight had already left the tarmac.</div><div><br /></div><div>It hadn't. I met a couple in line at security who were panicking because their flight was leaving in 15 minutes. 'We thought we were leaving tomorrow!' I let them ahead of me, which didn't really make much of a difference, but anyway. I got stopped because of a can of tea in my backpack and had to unpack and then repack everything--man, the stress! When I got to my gate, the couple were on the same flight as me, and the flight had just started bording. Perfect timing.</div><div><br /></div><div>One thing the debacle did do was firmly remove me from France. I was now in full airport mode, the calm of the last month and a half far behind me, the amour of Paris washed away by the sweat of stress. Forever in Heathrow, (security there parallels American security--full fascist mode) which is just a huge strip mall of WH Smiths and Harrods. </div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAqzQKZCiy5UiBdAXBrAGZr2JINxAnmt91Ppf-o2Bz_0U5d4z9ycPHJN1JeG-HBVLb4f_7xlYBkTtRVA795P9cyWUPr9hTUMuEFaccDShfYLELuFMiW1w6cNODPOnc-73qSLXm_I6IyZVS/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+480.JPG" /></div><div>It was steamy and raining in Montréal when I landed. The dream was over, but it felt bizarre, dreamlike to be in Montréal. Not that Montréal was dreamy, but that I was in a fog. North America was under my feet, and Europe was just a postcard place and journalled memories...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-34107089643817592872010-08-06T11:02:00.006-04:002010-08-21T23:38:16.768-04:00My return to Paris...<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2yJvHrXmLi6GjvQ7DJynRGgqAmGCbbvVABLNhpKszUQWVg47Je7QBi7k52KTAIc28sLkQiv3u84Gpm3xe6lOd1DkKM_YBDUeHfiK5S2GhW-Ud2sgorMfd9QVpcM69-iTlgpgeVXZQaHj/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+447.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKznvvE2ISTMkiXjsmQWzufjazGrSSHmkjKDS9pTnnaMBpML8ttK133NLYbvpLJl1OPzbtSxBub4zT-8VMvVtrSf6KLiVzpuW1tmqB5om3AzmKU8Q-ef6FSzQIGpbqNY2LZQFJz-B0oxk/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+446.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYPyx6mj_7aPz1lw1YSZnBp0wZLuF4Eihp1ZsOCxFjRH2mGfQYDM5AXUGDop_Er2oZEfolffmWUMh2KRh3GEApeURNVCPZCd2j46t6CqU6kaqLYnQoubfvSzPr68hyphenhyphen1IC4k_1Svf8VwaF/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+413.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqK6DYdV6ppNLCjL_vyLibhTnktHFd4xIf2exl5NjDuQzNB24YdCEX2cWRxD_T4bC90DAIuji2dyK0LPeULq8Ah4PoSExiBtfB1mnJRYw6uM0IVkj1KUYC62axskgWcnLahStVSaeiH_Z2/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+388.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFOG2Orq0b-65zibwcVbZdEYeFqtAddu0BtF2BEpO79y6jZfhGqbEauq7BeJAqxPpHhXYpA6j-FLRwukm_V8kbRNjRL0Qz3GtjjYo7fx4NQSRjPDoTx2-GmIw1VmVWZ0pG-ExsHMrkaGFO/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+434.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj9uMyKIDJYe5vL21qwDPuypRwKmw9lH9K6uXDuui3n9h6rtCpOcqItGMvrIoepum3-1S1dicGBmi4X-eBfHC3QLFv09Ii5DdXxAKVfEdBzzoNw1T3zGlkhsPsHxJOoj3GHjeScM2QGofN/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+396.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRBg2zkORkd2iSlIKhHQcswZMxv-U3Q7bEXEBeAheBhSJ40mIwrFxf3qNyL5AMD39Bi4v6sww_uzv3plN17Xb2y4RGRTB9tQINVHqbeH7Q366hRZL6nOmwXLPHMtozTHMI6cPqgXhTGWe/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+394.JPG" /><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGrOmqYDrGl7_IT9YnjL0kr945tLDTrNO5o9OkVWk44ZCC5F3JTRgseASzuf4XDKIA5Nf-xpY3vvUyXalSiHwHAQXH3tb6byXXmYNfHgyDop_1FfkQJ1HGwOqk-_vwkkNBrx7Li0AIRWRr/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+390.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16ythkkaG7fxXpBYC8X9UBzoX8Xa6wWWsIZz3nHndCWHXMEL1rHpsz1xPQoEFRA-Xa8l-pOH4hV4HNdxPp_TydUrp8KWZVPbkfI5mItUZogkL74IFMq9den6cT4E-X_kxwjeRXsn1ouPK/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+421.JPG" /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-90362526292635451872010-08-06T11:01:00.015-04:002010-09-11T22:40:53.263-04:00Brest to Chartres<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDlBHVf9zowkAJy5Dp66C0Aojm4n8Bi1FUuZ684QLc44k0Tn1s_zX0MbJmMNAJ8AL4Om7a7G-nP_Axwu-Qn7Dq5T4WLehBZAYBH6ZegOMuezSVIut5hteIjuslehjyB_PvLcwadWQJFawl/s1600/France+mai+aout+2010+348.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; 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cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmwBf5FrnRCc8KRvbKeD4SS-6QSTXbc5WT0avsPRehjGb3JH1u2wDGrMZ0LUD2pl7necjLgDB2hgA0jZmPwBxjattmrkPftN4UA4LCCLnK6HSRwSRtbgEivqSgII9jaeG5suDFOY30Wpv/s320/France+mai+aout+2010+382.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515847445561680242" /></a><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-34826613126720550252010-08-06T11:01:00.012-04:002010-08-09T11:13:06.261-04:00Nantes to Brest<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdIzQmIcc7McBx1tHlUrjKZZvINJI1UOoKNuJ9VT5keRUvCoerKYyNHT67ybzbAhJLMVEo90B4elKhqaKBCV4RKZOk_Ca6AQYqvA2dl0-T-8v8CJw0I5AQEjhzO3N2dGkLcdEBXOLJ0uc/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+242.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-pT8rAJQ233yOJ_tTPVBOCuVrnPjGe-ZyyUzyYYQDpYkXAEOAnIbxNMc7SfD6_iIXs-W7msAmlHs6kpuyYcUZWOnd25GwFvDbfp5hGvxEEvHEMiW9bbPWqkMchjxGeLXmmYsrR65RjIY/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+244.JPG" /><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYtibN66PCQ1E0rJ01eulpiUQTTLRfm2zSZh-_h9YPVv9Ikkz7t7KIpbr7G7Ko9_IJ5-8cVEG3yFcHXsuunrzN8ebuMWgzSCR7soavtxtQ39esrH9xfySG7b3g8jhPt8Ss2hxpYHCnkNc/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+243.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Nantes! I went riding on the island Sunday morning to look at the renouned (at least in Nantes) modern architecture and go graffiti hunting. The island used to be industrial, but has since become both residential and recreational. The industrial history of the island has been preserved--there used to be a thriving ship building industry here, and there are several hangars and gigantic pieces of equipment that have been brightly painted and transformed to interact with pedestrians and cyclists. As well, <a href="http://www.lesmachines-nantes.fr/english/">Les machines de l'ile</a> are there...</div><div><br /></div><div><div>I could here this crazy low sound like something big running at a construction site, and, turning off the empty roads onto the concrete pad that lines the river, I suddenly had a mechanical elephant headed straight for me!</div><div><br /><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wpsc48UTSfCNS7S9AcFJFd0LxOWXKjgtiDPjthYy74LWQ6k4e3D7RthwyG7JF5rjOWWjlyvmGT_BUCLGZrkfwHYxs2k187KbAgyyxbgb9oYHo-XaVCQdqILMnf602h0nGjy2A0HtU92w/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+259.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXcbCiB3-h5W8VVwcJcE9UYYNUEA2A6RC27virxJ06e552XYedgq8VlKdodSnMYKlezhCehmgCb5G7cYQKcYrXnBLrkvHX-lK4tFUxpaXtilmursC55Pkkm0OuDG42jXnyEp7TW2QoBZe7/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+251.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYqOevcYgC-cgaAQUX48woln7MpVKjVQMIKwVhoPuFobq4VKTa77Zm5mw2jJE2O5F23J1YvVjK5JqB6Hgswcde_bmumjv9BH40OLLXdmm6KNlhPEt2codkC8baYbmbDWqUqCqLNVmxEFV/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+253.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>I think it's from growing up during an era of post-apocalyptic movies (Blade Runner, Terminator, Mad Max, Running Man...) that I am immediately overcome by dread when I see something big, animated, and unaware. There is something strange about robots, machines that resemble living things. It seems they should have some sense of self within them, locked into subservience to their driver, but at the same time, it seems like they are some massive, unaware thing that is out of control. It's both sad and a little frightening. Then I get over it--it's a human construction of pneumatics and levers.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7I5GX_rIxVIPj7xDheEaAlMT2tTadnB65T0vgO0jM5Dx19o7TvUBRRlU3zMb1jr7aQ9GYgk1jEOoM6Dc54-BeJ4HyY2fab5OftUWoMD2a3XqRgdxDRf-RO7HrHXiJ0Ze5mF0vpRxxSD8A/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+254.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijvuDkupyqt1te9ZdYxmACryTH9LlHD_Q0_S6p_scgXyJN60398PCwW7wX8nIiKLb9EXN8ag_o2n7Mwi9eeIrrDMbPC2748_6RckQrkl9T452KSJccB4ci0NZRbr4LhWSia0mjaW6x9PKY/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+258.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>The machines are beautiful. The elephant is the only one active, it was the first built, finished only a year ago, I think. They are building a multi-level carousel with a sea theme, and each creature is a wooden shell around a half-human powered, half-machine powered body. The style is 100% Jules Verne, fantastical and beautiful. There was the most elegant and fantastic carousel at the entrance; unfortunately, my camera chose then to break down...</div><div> </div><div>Nantes was a great break from camping and cycling. I had woken up in St Hilarie-de-Riez to the sound of what turned out to be my tent pole snapping. There was a Decathlon there, so, after a little bit of polite arguing with the woman at the counter--she wanted me to buy a new pole that was expensive and didn't fit the tent when she should have just replaced it--I ended up with a new tent. When set it up for the first time, I immediately christened it 'The Cave'. It was completely black with the smalles windows possible--more like a Vancouver basement suite than a tent. And it was huge! Poorly designed--my Feringo took me less than two minutes to set up or take down, the fly was removable...the Quechua (France's only option--nearly--and comparable to Canadian Tire quality) was finicky to set up, even after I got used to it. I could put all my stuff inside, though...</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">While in Nantes, I spent most afternoons drinking beer in the sunshine and reading Suite Francais by Irène Nemirovsky--a very beautiful, sad novel. I discovered some great spots: Le chien stupide, </span><a href="http://www.absence-nantes.fr/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">L'absence</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: bold; font-family:Arial, Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> next to the School of Architecture and in the craziest, smallest, bluest building in the world (it must be!), and </span><a href="http://www.lelieuunique.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Le lieu unique</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, a modern art gallery and community space with a chill little pub/café. The exibition at the time was a retrospective of </span><a href="http://www.pierricksorin.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Pierrick Sorin</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">'s work--bloody weird stuff that I, for the most part, really liked. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It was the next day that I discovered that my rear tire was wearing out...I had thought that I'd ridden through something red, until I noticed that the red ran a rather uniform ring around the entire tire...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfcx2niXpj5TmbH9c1NNqQO7b1fLKiuR2bPlAg6F1FQO2dq9oJDCwqX5qoiQJ2-KodcWVsncxrCl55gSyXiOoMU8CVIjqfao8uHipb6hGpiuNjGIEEs4i6C_2hoUlycwaa9_9UL-gHBJ7/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+296.JPG" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It took two days and eight bike stores--since I'd left Nantes before I'd realised it's worn state--to find a 27'' tire. 27 is Dutch, not French, so they are more difficult to find.</span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And onward toward Brest! I went over a rather large bridge, past a typical fishing hut (bad picture, but you can see the thing that looks like a square trailor beside the old, broken bridge--they suspend huge nets from the front of the fishing hut. They are everywhere, and not always for the tourists).</span></span></div></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGg85oxAkIHftTbCdKi32ad0nSDumpHOMESyup8eZfQwGnMYrZ4jV9z7Njp9fn1JkcKHUbD4GG221PhF8dyY-4oS4_pCLmzfJFGmyPEjAud9N43-VVlAbLZ9WTMZnc07PUgQcgwkr7qpLX/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+270.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2ICmy-8bbYq1RA3NuHSWKomSYLo56opLbIjhiI9OizS90G_nvHKUZ_FF-e1-v79fBe0acfket2lNLIAjb-pjEQgPtk4oNkf0845KPCUK9HeitIZ9P6Ktikx7fspmfEQXXuDcv2EbE54E/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+271.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Then on to Carnac, a rather...I don't know how to describe it. It's not stunning, but it's...surprising? It's basically field upon field of large rocks lined up in rows. And it goes on for kilometers!</span></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoYt2igBiGqNB-trLxs1NeFrIMmIE7r_sPe0JXxJl-MhYmkaEEK95EP_qFAUsvFyww9JK1cX98Ab01AQSK4c6CR15qhrR4iD3tKZUdMayMIck_CxZmH2brKgl7y3GCwePlhOTTkKe1rNh/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+293.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZfAAewlrcd44wz6kke2EPtVl6Wu8pim-H01KE81dqxyYZi4ZlUxvD1M_rlDwu_6hi2itQsFo7TaJ0ko15MXoHBMQirijhpT6EZb7hDDUX50Js9hzzjFXuiouvHvMvGJg9nos2bD4FoTc/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+295.JPG" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">France is full of crosses--every town has at least one hanging Jesus, suffering at the crossroads. But the style in Brittany is remarkably different. It's almost cartoonish, and the figures are much more child-like, especially Jesus. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">On a hilltop heading onto the Presque Ile de Crozon, there was this great church, fringed by hydrangeas in full bloom, and decorated in the Brittany style. I don't know if it's typical of the area, or if it was just this one church, but the figures on the crosses had their left foot wrapped around the base of the cross. The church itself is really old, and devoted to Brigitte, whomever that is (!) It's at the crossroads of what has been a busy trade route for thousands of years.</span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOTEPrkuu4Z3ctVEPoro2Sv2nQvEORbRMHEoq2f6hogC_Ak7fGaVbSKS3eMSzLYUPXeC9NY6oestxYXKRyVNGkCAQutwut67MPB89Gzvt_cAt-M-3cbvRuntWdYv3l9DDymfqNurFJWJ8/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+304.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwTQtvAJfxR7Q3Mth2Y0wjIFRfgqKJFAcwPD09DyA2s9Nbcf2dyhib3OvWykjITv_Jb52JYhnM-yclkxNL7b7qygpCkJnS4IJ2vXyZ9ZflO-M7YsFtPAW_Ww0nK9ZTd1ywBb0o08WWoDgQ/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+301.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYTPpuNDg7FlFyem3grwe_j0ek9ZShGEx6zRslyzJPN6W1r7ZAD7hFcinDrI2uE3abH5MCvtVEndGbAWu8kx0U7o5Nvq0Q_9pnP0p5-ME6NemB4Uqho0gpRsEd5GCQPvF65YViZz14uDrA/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+300.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-bDI6r8yLGFZi3r9Hz_2pPDBsDoMdZ2qrnlbVHEWKB-KK7-P4Kqn6IXYLXXNfxn8wXODCzyiUXD1ELTyetVJGZJZxwIrB6T-v2wQYzaPGpetlhPzLcXxhjne8r7yWYWSwuawviLse6RtN/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+299.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Then Camaret, which is Cameled in Breton, and makes me think of Camelot, which is not surprising since the Celts/Gauls were present in Brittan and the French Atlantic coast. Camaret was a peaceful place to stop for a day, but really, really touristy. I rode around and saw plenty of WWII scars, since Brest, which is across the straight, was heavily protected by the Germans and heavily bombarded by the Allies. Brest was almost completely levelled durning the war.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiul0ViPnmlRvMIo9SiQjJtp4qwpaKGHknKrYKkhRE2o3ZfYIZR7BrrodwfMe_YrDY9JZLj_fppW6nPXPfK2KUKLUm85YRSmxC2oZ8oPMNNsii_u3w7nEEYYCUvjg-haviAcKGqWkumPYCv/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+306.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmI0keiAbIgOq0k1RfjeqFKYYuUhTmKaGYTH9881iNU2RnpyqZL-oFIDfkUXCe_CUSab5TkwcjOrlw8GpFJhggz-QpBvr1HcMXXC1M7rFw5dITx5mxRXrxVfAhRMIykNkbmYbqc81LLBmJ/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+324.JPG" /></div><div><br />I have no pictures of Brest. I camped a little way outside the city, and was really excited to visit it. In the late 40s, some big names and big money were redesigning the city for reconstruction. However, by 1950, the workers had had enough, and held a massive, unprecidented strike. I've read graphic novels about it--the authorities had police pulled in from the surrounding area, officers who had no connection to the people striking, and who would be less reluctant to react with force. A young man in his late teens or early twenties was shot and killed, shocking everyone, and, perhaps ultimately, ending the strike quickly on terms favouring the striking workers. </div><div><br /></div><div>Modern Brest--Brest Metropole Océan, as it has been renamed recently--is not so interesting. At least not in a day. I really should have been more organised, but there was construction everywhere, and not central hub to the city. It wasn't even particularily pretty, and even looking for a café was a bit disappointing. I'm sure Brest has much more to offer, but it eluded me. I did, however, find a rad little crepe shop in the middle of nowhere on the side of the road. It was someone's back yard set up with little table and lanterns, very informal and cute as can be. I want a crepe stand like that!<br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-57160706068276426682010-08-06T11:00:00.005-04:002010-08-08T11:25:20.430-04:00Toulouse to the Atlantic coast<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOP13aBQzNHeJ44EXrwJLFP1lLQlj2mmFbh4VEb6UCwmOqVWsPj3IYvZMiipQPBGI3brCCVV-eYJWKTCZWOhOdBBuCv0Js2AJ9ktgQ1Sd6d0SW24pgnSlejPoIKEKbtuZWj8iZkyyWfk9E/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+096.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbCpWK5Fpqq79vD6xrjRqZv5AbwkoGAhz6j_sz7vrmx7KBAQadQ_xGKiOXjs45JkAzyqHkAX-F6LUxn7nIya8TiUGCMfsC14GJbW6xEApAFphgJY6Ou9-Z6WD1H_X81KbLXWlQV22L5tU/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+146.JPG" /><br />I left Bessieres on a rainy, rainy day. I cycled over 100 kms, most of them soggy. At one point I stopped and hid myself from the weather in a bus shelter, but after a certain point, it just didn't matter. Surprisingly, it wasn't a bad day. I passed through plenty of beautiful hill-top towns filled with the usual French beauty--old stone churches, fortified medieval towns, statues, roses, things that don't register for me any more because they are everywhere. People wonder how the French can be so blasée. Because they live here!<div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ9g1g7goL7Snfv8OTdNhS_fMgxSGolsRfokrj9wjxX4NxI0aT9kXPG9_RyOe5YPRbBkZOMdCFZWT8n34sXnQ3rUUDHih0-PbqYk10osgLez6p2d7yGbz67a35WltQXy4ziMj34-5gsHt9/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+097.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVXuLUoTpv4GYyvwckdrm_OzN42Xma1jJQ7JlMay74lF0VQPxTyX8j-PFswYdJ_orKiMyo-9JDBXV4nkUmssIjYVk9nRt7B8gY71dn4QvZ6gowWV55wR999pFAsjsDAW7Crwo7WwcbAcS/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+100.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJXhCIf1vgqWchPRGMO2ErRe9lzjYvonDPzjjQNvc41AUaNOOLlYSLlinxdA7dBb81lz9-HhVnLYUFG7bQqXhM7ht7EN1BI4OI8K8kNwrlDuWgNPcp6jh4uQu2NrI3uAsyVYyq_Sv4_2G/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+098.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>The second day I found <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Notre_Dame_des_Cyclistes">Notre Dame de Cyclistes</a>!!! Unfortunately, they were closed on Mondays, and I was on my way to Les Landes and couldn't wait around. Their <a href="http://www.notredamedescyclistes.net/historique.html">website</a> has lots of pictures of things I couldn't see. And what I could see, wasn't so exciting.</div><div><br /></div><div>I arrived in Les Landes: a place historically shamed for its ugliness. It's a plain of marsh and wind that has since been planted with pine trees, which means it's flat and treed and full of logging trucks and small logging towns. It isn't ugly, it's France, but it is dull to cycle in. When you can see the next two hours of riding laying plane in front of you, it's almost demoralising. At least the trees are pretty and they hold back the wind!</div><div><br /></div><div>I rode all the way to Sarbris, an unremarkable town (except that I could finally stop riding because they had camping), near to a remarkable 'musée en plein aire'. Before the railway was constructed through the area, there was a tiny Landais village that was abandoned once the train and logging arrived, changing the rythm of life there. Traditionally they had been shepherds. I was surprised that the main reason for having sheep is NOT for meat, nor even wool, but for manure. 100 sheep will fertilise enough field to grow enough grain to make enough bread (does this sound like 'there was a teeny-tiny woman in a teeny-tiny house...) to feed eight people for a year. But what was really cool was that they walked around on stilts and built Baba Yaga houses for their chickens.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzSxb1YfwErTveOT1HS9sT0WmS6PwWvP10ng2nBPxDo2gzMIhVEOQmAc8qvt8szRcgGgG26t-K4-Czt3le6gtWf0y0mPtHii1QZEtoDl31LVmdXPtCcQcKneGw0DwXNknJUFyygg2aetl/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+117.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqhqTI9ki7SSvA8kfl23kGlrNLgS-Zu0svdg_ZMzXHDMUoav4lvhhjmStD5WE-YGFnVGw_WFCjgsL8CfzT5ABEWUuuZKSLXyoRIa6Rt6cmuw6A9tumrs4BuWsZ0524wrzRFE3pDBkJb13/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+120.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7lrnJ2CO7grFd5-_GX8bq_pHwj1liw_JZsLd2-uE9sGqIQp9OzyXyZyGDIc7gXtdBi3SoFD-y-96WZKd0vF_8R-0yWY_3hHFwWJ6JgM6uRKGAZzppLEhk93AfzEdy1tVPfGruAdZggmcI/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+115.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmy5Lt51xtbctZxkDnFSrJMambGNo2NDMJV6AdBcRPzWDIe524huMUmJBwiCcqGcsf1iNH2iXjyu5m8xzcWPPJQZM1oDdwuWcw4o80VQCoVvFTVgTKO63-Dz5zh8q_yHRY4pgeAMMEFwfB/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+116.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXdvpNAqD21GU2JGrTEqwn4gnPspxTft9lLuU1fW1Rolif0QYJR2hHMw359WsGuBrpRg6erlrHNwflbGORCPDg-tk1hgfxfJ5seUEblTF5agY3-76rfwgQBqFhQHsBRCiIU2H3MWOdhlp/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+131.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>To get to the museum, you have to take a train--a really old train, since the line is now defunct. The cars were mostly in wood, built in the early 20th century, and the trip in was lumpy--every time a secton of iron ended, there was a bump like a step down. And the bumps were pretty regular!</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_C_5ZR4OmH2I3CEC9zZZED-PqbwpR-ATdvUGRfaZGo9a8fw8ITCqfARxdP1o7KptGYzoXyHKpQfMkV4dZIlJJJOsIajQMWrPTSuvjm4qmHHGgr3NFJ8ydkqNpI7pqIGe7l7Z5vk-AQW8y/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+144.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtp2kPj4_I-LVfVjhE9BK4gmYwDJcrxzwdW5sx85-6lDqz6rT5U9ur5-4NSjE6BqiyAg5iUlG0QfTxp2KxCAI0azMVYbt2xujUEBaiDBG8MkJMSYZ3aIRL5wCLPKlPeLvI4ct7XWPv8lOQ/s200/France+mai+aout+2010+143.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, I missed the pre-lunch train back, so I got stuck in the museum until 2pm. It was fine, but it was a push to get to the coast that afternoon. But I got there. Mimizan!</div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-66614788057751498862010-08-06T08:23:00.007-04:002010-08-06T09:47:47.196-04:00Gaudi<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZqXkx5LN82L9lEdyfvw2P9JCfjVGIWS-DKNk97qkzJgUK03fvvnCP4LUUp61ONanLAUQEA-s7BO5TTV_r2NUTIV5XP0LOfi-1GnPYUqDo8Lsc-NfSd_pA5cHnqScT2cre1UpbHkcWrFcB/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+926.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbrXerAZnopkFEx6LaQOmjB_FOhjr-rDbFhcV46n4O0QFSxtsF34XMT6LmAey2kl1LrtjjiSiDrRtkv2en5M5iE_XirTzEMml0slmHIw0U_5GAAyVJtTD8CAt_rH7wgeWqUamvlO-vDWnP/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+896.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxaxy7JT3Md7_D4fm5C3OPfvNA2BnUcE6qMFrW5jrkH-VO7BnSSbhfWrQA7RxoOmT6ZV803TEDR2G8Z3G_2XBqe-fdZrzhKubSD9PhC015BwABBgvGt0Xy0Q41slH4qoDSyxDKixHiaem/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+867.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitkf-kmbsHlGtQRg78tpu7NxKpNJrTv_mITxWo0cPuwnKmZmHP3IglEgZcpg9pp3PVCTYpKjWMLB6Ell6TL7McJHfdPhxkhjxUyn4frzVtQdoT5_1TQfeOWmUC2n9Kid_C03K9Rr_S4K5V/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+907.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKSBhLjQU7YMx9Oz66MuldmL7yvysC7fobdw_gp3onMvSNMzA5bnkX-ki_0W2DzglFHW-i0UqpXnPQyP971pcvegPBw5bMSemrxpq_vjqSvE6NMzeo6alRi1CHnnROnZwQMltrVMGpwv2x/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+900.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQbYnJ_auXOlXVI86xQ6D7R3cgLaIqDhrQ6mwu91dPotu8kPWUg5reS8W9AUO6kj29fy3jLhJ3e7mCRk6xhTxGf_Q3o2SwmbTW-cMsb-w_s5SAOxonOX9Xb0mzjXIFn_iJMJqi2282PDM/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+868.JPG" /><img 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src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKM7MZWwvKaksPjBdKgRj44UgQfk-HKwQrSsPaFX19o9mjGyMEi4MXkaTEnuF88AlgktBOOT6Uzl3yQqyBcFs-u1QJjIsyE1Ud9ZqinFOdnQiWastT2oM_zJA3OGEhVm58TZv7wGYbWK2d/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+1112.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEH7VNE1v2TV36H9KekColOW-_jfEEVUAuRASsCISe48IOoEsRcyx_FYkaz04_l6HV5HePyJXUpIEA-ya5g-uiZOaQhVUCtnKSCgrI7BQRHGBbRzOFjbQUdS7Rh11o1fsdw6Jizi0BSwd6/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+1004.JPG" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-48886909952417528752010-05-14T11:23:00.004-04:002010-08-09T23:26:01.915-04:00Spain: Valencia and beyond<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTY-unIIxvZVkbL59mwkc8GBncKUWDBT1fsVWuq-gUiERxBnCjBVH17UsoHC7iHaOFXn44he4jlNwYBdt5Il01RZqf_mv3FCZUhNPuIfxl4REw60LVlr1fYvCp3S0NrSuvfihrIb9GZZRH/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+991.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATm5lDp4xgYRT3GdN2mR0rCoasNCECVMxVJphYf3mTIK0wHrpCxksBcBiiBLZptVKavcnSIHNZn8FWk6uz4dyjv2HRrXDLLMTRZQ-t4ir4JdNi4ckLU2pXdOQrf7mTzj4WpC8-lt6iuIV/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+989.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDmUO2y_o0RiK99TUY4Hl7BGLX1xFwifDAJtVUrqGEEXGvVvjWUENCr_vetLa4gsyW9qKatNiZeUbb4hAN3-t-t6tS0lldPGFofF1jxo18_kYeLPjobxNCTD2xU0Cgcn7TFBptj3piqFRG/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+988.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbJhKRes_ttgIUD0fe6YcskR6X1J3XAXwwD4avWRXCaJWTYnv5x7nEMIYa2Ln9rWFfDk-sBtADowJib2B7l3DW-jhbEHVOOabJ0mqdFOij6zIvuWYWd71ARhAFZK_hCIuo_VUdys7zWif/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+986.JPG" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE3BUPgJGs8Hfry2Zk69HcpVzWZckcyhO6eLVBGSIs9wYvwKo03HwX1N1oEwyf7XOAxstZIDtQc2OdRUXWdvIESLE3D3W_mtXIrEb-6jOPByZeNHl_3AgNJIzWwues8J0_F_p1FXoJ4T_B/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+959.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcuhyzKq5tv6V02DapMWv-7LpAQGQxG4fvloxP8E1LRcCt3ucQxceeUGYmYB3SB9ucRdQg8mUJIiFC0hxqO45t7mMQ5OaRfnYmEmFmcrjeTyyVk5DvhIRN9g2vxF4eJNgFkCOkE_dMRhx2/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+957.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig_0wggcDvoGnNDLRxOurRR-FgdEcPJpvohAMnbDsPMolh5cgRzVgG22ePsjSzC26oWUE8fZmNNt8SjAXns6vZxtd4E5x_3KsVaucbfIxMCxkOqfRUythJcLDD-8nkGvj-g8jhniBewmf9/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+977.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8uCOiEqWirUjCJgGlZQ9sJ7OeCpeD0_3TbqjY7yQfQ5wfpRNaCD3Dtezg-OI4yZfaa3qG9JQb2FIwiCgMs1_qkyn2HvFBTcfRlAVE1jR9IGpYRPSilmXxENjg6qc8IYl102p_VxtniRZk/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+969.JPG" /><br /><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvEtVZobOAgJ6uv4ooDDVJDmqNfWI7oq5quT2zk7ysUvUACRHEMjGFTvz31euiLK3rQbIEIiHgDIc1GkXAMei4zCvoC9eBukwtAdeu3bYSuG2UoyDvnj1FPLEy13v97aMEOHO-avtrCUi/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+873.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlY6t6OFb5mt6wL6POmA6JEi7zW6ty5uDPS5tv0ZLSMJleGRPrn_12SfYje7FNj2809cf7yfT8Y6SnU4MUiAjfcWDoFYhHvAl4vokkmpfkyQKBwf2AGEYGaRTsapc8IWZ71NobLuzkWo8/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+886.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWakvWD6ItXhyphenhyphenaCruGuy65SbvmrWbtOX3zAFUL1nn6n9hpAv3f_pjqa8U_hPPJia3CdDb50JI9tNZ3aP6PbLNJRaxHY8VIemQRrLGjHvGRtDOjbMxXktneJWwABP669lBTu95MCDRSBQ1/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+981.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rTzo8uZrmF4a-wjvTeTtFRnlCsQAEgLVHp6ADOWMJb8Lc_qtQB2k5hVj-NmGxPlvGgFvBIjGjHnsCrlu1qMxMWXz5cD_XQfOHKTB5cJQghYCF5Lfhb8c0FAw9l1w-zv228GsaBAd-7lh/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+941.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMfzlHlmKi5zf9YDgcYhXJoUvW4wHJSXxeLKoMXOmHYKF8rO8wTky48Y8aVU7W_JghnT67NoRBzx7Jz9aGpy5UDfBWKwdTaIN_ygLlhIpMiTuXgZtM8yWnfpDcT5esgWoH74VxXwrf-8_/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+840.JPG" /><br /><br /><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgkfCkde1FJuOSdvMJhFnZaCKue-lwFbgWksfOvx7sbENk8aB32BcU_9BwjM-lWeyxBR3tMLKVKC1VBCTUCmWQC3RUIXrACM2_Q9g-FUiSheOgJ3kWzZer126S3YSVs7X3Ai1xANtadW0/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+872.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCZRBSCPhyLRzp4jvETNWNitxsL7SiMMuYZ7V4IfV33GTNVRmvmfK5xc58A5eyEsefx9cvpexo-gfTVNw_udKhocwMmsqh0nibDO6yPDem27Xud21H_vMfL7rNMzQo3THj9vDRP7tu-sUj/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+836.JPG" /></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-38163460388189727912010-05-14T11:20:00.002-04:002010-05-14T11:23:26.283-04:00My friend Lucy sent me this link--<a href="http://drummbellina.typepad.com/drummbellina/2010/04/diy-tutorial-how-to-make-your-own-cute-knickers-printout.html">DIY knickers</a>! How awesome. Other than the kids, the woman sounds a lot like me...I can't wait to get home to be making shit! I have to buy a new sewing machine (rather than having my old one shipped from Vancouver), so I'm hoping to find something beautiful and rather old, or I'm going to get the same, super cute sewing unit that Venus has!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-13545239559653859962010-05-11T13:59:00.001-04:002010-05-11T13:59:37.587-04:00June Address!466 Avenue de Castres<div>31660</div><div>Bessieres, France.<br /><br />For those that haven't seen it in various other places. I'll be there until mid June--don't wait until then to send letters!<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-26175605695705674222010-05-02T10:25:00.009-04:002010-08-06T08:00:46.166-04:00Barcelone, March 2010<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtoR0CeA4UYlvF-KmoPC3TEpF9akywBNCjNK3c4NT6evg_KOqL9Twfkm_PcnRx44BD7MSfWFd9fE65QIHRYaTvOErk9JayILqoBuB5vQh74eULQwPlSlg1k27L6gBtUGoD9namdJx3mKFp/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+989.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtlGXLLyk0KHXD60lu10vD7pB-fiE_YPoB3tCVVaJcKYCUQaOSbhq5AaVBVtofSWh8kHvSuqJzK-npf8AbfUe9wkz3YBB5yf4cDyOeXvwwide1AEFapagCzUnNeiyQCRhI8x0tnHSQMCY/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+900.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBTNYvwN8QGnyzFiBAGlAPUsLJyafFUF93hFeJqz3GKN9M1dDgrf7_8niL24GhEbj1uUt4A88y3TSCqOf-eNn3_a3Y-v3mzjGSWN3LBmfHuVNvyUpncpr4dM5IR1BXAtnGHq-BBMk6sHo/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+969.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio949yVlPqp-Ou5EaQnZkIESkdfsD7cQY2Cno1-Ex42r63_OHj6zvlJjgSrRZAFGavBKoZju4eal-S57dYM_tjh7lmD-vIGbtMvNl6Rm0RYTJwRKxMdCht0vKyrPt8BGxfQHd24f8i0tb7/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+843.JPG" /><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglcNwLZJH3NApDbyt4taDuSI4jXg_G8MVXDX7YAKZ07pRzXbkNiBrv0Rulnpwt5qWT4DuwvQcUOjcbNm9fXkYPMil2MJxSKdDq24sdSXy2zFWSE90AL83B_3mLAA8iajeckcRmHezeEsqS/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+1002.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgjNWCDm6ec0NqCR91ToqVX9uQOO3LMz9RieHZRG3yMwT12YSQLe6Fb1zbkf5h8qqtSA9kCjalys_CEju-t8xomfOpftPDt9zqO-oenbMdnGWEb5F9mOzkEKNTMSXl6s3dBpbG0UtJmI7/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+990.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ0ew0DMoOU3Ba8xIvxq4XpLwqiCZL4C-S_TmyOwy8XumM-m22Nvp9uAiggOa1z62DqFE8vyKqXKfKWUT9bI5n19XQFiAAe_3_0pWkphHq2JkSZ2DqqTxDrAVZaMtE-MmNBo8dd8lHSwQn/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+978.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVhuQh2jhbe-TYb45CYVK8pAQzgJk3ksMIz90aAbLoX4AfpPBqC3nqyv442tVcVpHNpOqOoyeN1VarV15Ppl15Jo8iKbk8JkfvphctaSyTUQyJg-LiuZhQn2pMnk2hwRlc4qZ2-JWJFkB/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+957.JPG" /><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkoonhkigNi1OpzZk2XiuyPtArmArLiSCKAeESl2hV8CJWmWKQ4TtLrTqZJAahiMepkOd5Nsd-SSiqAWXAfUqmxgSk6k6dZZLDczGLdhqlW9XTQlEdQbkRL2JCU-z8Yt754neS516Ec2Ge/s200/france+sept+avril+2009+2010+941.JPG" /><br /><div><br /></div><div>Barcelona is truly a beautiful city. more than Paris, everywhere I looked, I found something beautiful, no less for Gaudi's additions. Here is the top of one of his apartment buildings.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAODLppqWnkFHqoPurSvPXwRpVk0Ju0aIR3Yk59Umzz62jd-mROS6N6HwtqeAVnlNUlUkegfU5byI410hPnsyU0qceX-LMVsUdVleNiSn9P5xSAlMjlgYBEGCye-OaHwpMIm18uTQqvA7w/s1600/P3270127.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAODLppqWnkFHqoPurSvPXwRpVk0Ju0aIR3Yk59Umzz62jd-mROS6N6HwtqeAVnlNUlUkegfU5byI410hPnsyU0qceX-LMVsUdVleNiSn9P5xSAlMjlgYBEGCye-OaHwpMIm18uTQqvA7w/s200/P3270127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466681581184536930" border="0" /></a><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbLGyCJhtsFnwZPGVDt6v-d9Moxfo41TgkaLbf4IfvfVOxu1OnTsiTNnx-fO7QQT28BFj0-TBsRw0uwP8sgCcvJ6lJy8IB16ciJc_4yH2brj3z6xm_maTHylV3vrYFOHss-afR9zJmKId/s200/P3270135.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPg03wbkPWqXasU-K4DFTuRBihKHo14y8PW-8SEaIa8Bu4_ShN-MQrQNS6DAx5lSRJhDTYrVnIJ-JfxwpNip55TviGEFaBcH3ekgPRhofIFZuxd23FLybhhtVyrwbg-TrgIYHhAL2UIu5x/s200/P3270143.JPG" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDRGlZPTrI6VUWtygmmq2kmewlthItMB33_Yqze4iRpoJ-XqWFs8Wrw4Qcq8CJIr8VuakJ_7syJqVjRPLs8OHa9-_U_8Jyd6x1L2UVzrfATXH1Wb2C-LX7y0wwOPtfRqrKx78lZcIIBSM/s200/P3270161.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Light and colour were two things he did well, besides many other things. In fact, his buildings are quite well designed, from using natural light and simple heating techniques. And fabulous desig, of course.<br /><br />The core of the building was all in tile, with wooden vents to regulate the temperature. It was a better picture through the molded glass.<br /><br />Organic. Beautiful.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzIw3nMmUiow2g3WhTofpNvOBlRgvqGgfketsUNM1F6TqhPU_q727IcXRvptz2h3yfX9ZMJkslmehw-Xy2EHJUlJS6gtRcQWa-7oTKZmX1dxgQ3zm44lzJrjKOekLJ8ak1nbZfvUlJh2v/s1600/P3270170.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzIw3nMmUiow2g3WhTofpNvOBlRgvqGgfketsUNM1F6TqhPU_q727IcXRvptz2h3yfX9ZMJkslmehw-Xy2EHJUlJS6gtRcQWa-7oTKZmX1dxgQ3zm44lzJrjKOekLJ8ak1nbZfvUlJh2v/s200/P3270170.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466683033918664434" border="0" /></a>A fire place with a room all its own! Like a warming oven, but for people! I want one of these.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-16614681469899798322010-05-02T10:17:00.004-04:002010-05-02T10:53:15.319-04:00Perpignan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVM96tu-PHx0r4lmXRi-yaJlVRXhD4bi6oNXOye_EgwEcEllDkXRECokMukZhCnQSb7hPo7-B9RACN0IClsaPTryo0RQiDuwt798xBh-10Cv8qSicGwSgXyMuIJuOI1cnujpLb6NNTIB6G/s1600/P3240041.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVM96tu-PHx0r4lmXRi-yaJlVRXhD4bi6oNXOye_EgwEcEllDkXRECokMukZhCnQSb7hPo7-B9RACN0IClsaPTryo0RQiDuwt798xBh-10Cv8qSicGwSgXyMuIJuOI1cnujpLb6NNTIB6G/s200/P3240041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466677681803737314" border="0" /></a><br />Spring! Magnolias and the moon. Some people said they didn't really like Perpignan, but I did. It's quite pretty and diverse, and after being in the mostly white Toulouse, it was a relief being around people who weren't all the same!!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xmiFGwtaT_icrZ9fQwsO_B9wTKy6Ek5eHZJI2ON0EbLJdyLVqYH4Hhdyi0goei1HrmXjoAD5wiL43qOB4__lHyuuuBNEkOKYzImxGzq_129AmhdjI2tDt7IB53vgg4YX4LIIqFUVlVB1/s1600/P3240034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xmiFGwtaT_icrZ9fQwsO_B9wTKy6Ek5eHZJI2ON0EbLJdyLVqYH4Hhdyi0goei1HrmXjoAD5wiL43qOB4__lHyuuuBNEkOKYzImxGzq_129AmhdjI2tDt7IB53vgg4YX4LIIqFUVlVB1/s200/P3240034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466677674000701090" border="0" /></a><br />I got into the city too late to get into the hostel, so I hung out in the park and drew a thousand palm trees. It was a beautiful day, so why not?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOn3eIUvBWRwyzyVBj_1aw284XTuX0DWDwYZWl99KEHywmumDLg4udov4PqBTfaJCN-F96iZgtrmeteZLM6-jzCVQMvi3iwwSV-Kghp7lYNqwCk5DIkVuFQS795fDgUdukFEVjAl7-ZWO/s1600/P3240038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOn3eIUvBWRwyzyVBj_1aw284XTuX0DWDwYZWl99KEHywmumDLg4udov4PqBTfaJCN-F96iZgtrmeteZLM6-jzCVQMvi3iwwSV-Kghp7lYNqwCk5DIkVuFQS795fDgUdukFEVjAl7-ZWO/s200/P3240038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466677664969370930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Another thing that makes Perpignan cool? Their velo system. They're cruisers!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieURT1xwI3AlxEChFMnODc__20Oac1s4PXvvqB7lBjA3-yJDtOd6aknCshvmKoabU8MU6BuI8ZkaZQo1mxhgLuIM8fxaTbSdCQbd04QvnYvBkqaILOdPVx5ERmsCqbPWX3KUgZ_GILpl5b/s1600/P3240040.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieURT1xwI3AlxEChFMnODc__20Oac1s4PXvvqB7lBjA3-yJDtOd6aknCshvmKoabU8MU6BuI8ZkaZQo1mxhgLuIM8fxaTbSdCQbd04QvnYvBkqaILOdPVx5ERmsCqbPWX3KUgZ_GILpl5b/s200/P3240040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466677662013382146" border="0" /></a><br /><br />A quiet little street. Narrow and peaceful like so many other streets in France...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-14931291514170127052010-05-02T10:15:00.003-04:002010-05-05T13:26:38.475-04:00My last day in Bessieres<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XIAltqSa7WmNDD-5WS4yDkqUzpa2hq2TjKZdoF-iylLiMyIicFFfmH94_o19nRhubOgaskYCRzKdeEvlpAWLCeZOPos6GjRNP_kGAzj3v9tuYVuGQGl5d9p_4bhwipAJH19V-c-WJmX2/s1600/P3210018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XIAltqSa7WmNDD-5WS4yDkqUzpa2hq2TjKZdoF-iylLiMyIicFFfmH94_o19nRhubOgaskYCRzKdeEvlpAWLCeZOPos6GjRNP_kGAzj3v9tuYVuGQGl5d9p_4bhwipAJH19V-c-WJmX2/s200/P3210018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466678658603740866" border="0" /></a><br />I was really tired of fighting with the computer, so this picture hasn't been rotated. I have plenty more to add, but I figured one sideways photo was enough. There was a community vide grenier my last day in Bessieres, a community garage sale! Yeah! This was a wasps nest--it's a nest of Asiatic Wasps that have been turning up more and more in France. They hunt bees, so they are really, really bad to have around, and they are quite large (apparently) and red and black. It was still winterish, so this hive was dormant, and I'm pretty sure they were going to burn it afterwards, but they brought it to the VG just to show--and it was huge! That woman's head was right beside it! It was quite the show stopper.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_NXBu4QrCPBwsCxJMgnV7MeFdl1g6g5AAS5peuqK9Ll9hPjKl__TBlmY_JwRjlzxkY6sV6ler_-euCZtSLMM_mbH3Pcv12q7-nSR_fZp9tk5yLGZUFgQNgIXTyCjtgefGJnIBQk4s14j/s1600/P3210019.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_NXBu4QrCPBwsCxJMgnV7MeFdl1g6g5AAS5peuqK9Ll9hPjKl__TBlmY_JwRjlzxkY6sV6ler_-euCZtSLMM_mbH3Pcv12q7-nSR_fZp9tk5yLGZUFgQNgIXTyCjtgefGJnIBQk4s14j/s200/P3210019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466678650172460818" border="0" /> </a><br />At the VG there were plenty of farm implements! This is (the back of) Berangere and here daughter, buying a plow. Farm stuff is always really colourfully painted...<br /><br />The one thing that was EVERYWHERE were CASSETTE TAPES. And, yes, I bought my first cassette tape since I was 13. I'm starting a collection, don't you know. I got the soundtrack to Down By Law! Five for a euro, so I got a few others... Hey! They're light!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-38901266026470056892010-05-02T09:54:00.009-04:002010-05-11T13:48:24.810-04:00I went for a bike ride...<div style="text-align: left;">I went for a bike ride between Bessieres and Gaillac, which is...maybe 20 or 30 kms away. It was a beautiful Sunday, if a little cold. And here is what I found:<br /><br />A memorial to the war dead. Every town has one, some more interesting than others.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xFN5VG-TCLyQzmkVJNXek5P3-Zp8oAh0nME1GHP2JBfia0AcVJ5kwG1GIwUTns9KuFxZ_dfHnzVMexzvH5B5P0DyBU3Cx5Mw4nmXFudj1PtzG3oo3k6HsptQrbQQ5HwMP2NbChW4KL9C/s1600/P3140131.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xFN5VG-TCLyQzmkVJNXek5P3-Zp8oAh0nME1GHP2JBfia0AcVJ5kwG1GIwUTns9KuFxZ_dfHnzVMexzvH5B5P0DyBU3Cx5Mw4nmXFudj1PtzG3oo3k6HsptQrbQQ5HwMP2NbChW4KL9C/s200/P3140131.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466675898445094386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A great sign for apples.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEZZ68jcgQQA4Q-0Ehczctjy6S4nfEMNbD-XE_fw1AMGIP9yd6WTSQB1D0rK_a-_LXZoixqQwd3I_ARc_1FZpnZZJsNl30DxUCoYqFTXiYCpYvBaUtsVkj5LN9ViY4Fa3ceIKNS-XH-Gs/s1600/P3140128.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEZZ68jcgQQA4Q-0Ehczctjy6S4nfEMNbD-XE_fw1AMGIP9yd6WTSQB1D0rK_a-_LXZoixqQwd3I_ARc_1FZpnZZJsNl30DxUCoYqFTXiYCpYvBaUtsVkj5LN9ViY4Fa3ceIKNS-XH-Gs/s200/P3140128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466675895098061730" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Spring!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinEr1D1hgJc3BO7JqvKuOcEn_dz5eodA981JWoBr0If4w_gvrf1Y1tMrtJwXqElqY1eZmmqooj-PUPDU_MeCNpLgnOiHqhQfEyF5cg9OZz_jgumtED-4BPvQXkic6hYPdKdo6S2rSe5hBb/s1600/P3050050.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinEr1D1hgJc3BO7JqvKuOcEn_dz5eodA981JWoBr0If4w_gvrf1Y1tMrtJwXqElqY1eZmmqooj-PUPDU_MeCNpLgnOiHqhQfEyF5cg9OZz_jgumtED-4BPvQXkic6hYPdKdo6S2rSe5hBb/s200/P3050050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466674728669062306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Lisle-sur-Tarn. French names are terribly adventurous. It's on an island in the Tarn River. And it's pretty, just like every other town in France.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jA2_xL3nYXw2bGmfxiVV65ptOFAruqC0FTLGJAC2mDQJSqgUY9MM4fZ1iqHs3zE5jCCBzCO3F3g8-TerYQTRIuxwxsyPDtGz1Qy29k4Sy8F5mjDQSMnABJxRLowUigM2AHA9NDX_kyqm/s1600/P3050049.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jA2_xL3nYXw2bGmfxiVV65ptOFAruqC0FTLGJAC2mDQJSqgUY9MM4fZ1iqHs3zE5jCCBzCO3F3g8-TerYQTRIuxwxsyPDtGz1Qy29k4Sy8F5mjDQSMnABJxRLowUigM2AHA9NDX_kyqm/s200/P3050049.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466674718476929842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The light was beautiful, the clouds were beautiful, the sky was beautiful. I am obsessed with taking pictures of the sky, of clouds, and of power lines. I can't explain it.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_235eMCgwjo7glNcdqPeeneQdkp2aB0wRnWGKXSN8xKa2yANaLXZ1drCvioY-m07oHxgu9eZ2viTKJUwwtceZ4lnyxL0RpkSpvdR_YQ1weZCR81lN-2dh4OOBZe5qEaIYh9ea_l5l1-M/s1600/P3070065.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_235eMCgwjo7glNcdqPeeneQdkp2aB0wRnWGKXSN8xKa2yANaLXZ1drCvioY-m07oHxgu9eZ2viTKJUwwtceZ4lnyxL0RpkSpvdR_YQ1weZCR81lN-2dh4OOBZe5qEaIYh9ea_l5l1-M/s200/P3070065.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466673425997789058" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The French countryside.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicM1q1fhz2KI6x3A4F82eTfVlC8NzWBdMmCriY7wDMYeEtSW1NT3Z7v6Vr3ckhvUhqdR3O4MXVkwFq_UqWKpvpD3m1e2byt4f6Hd4ZJiGdUXHaQg6PzRCb6TxtCIk3qWIKLeeB65NPPSEr/s1600/P3070079.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicM1q1fhz2KI6x3A4F82eTfVlC8NzWBdMmCriY7wDMYeEtSW1NT3Z7v6Vr3ckhvUhqdR3O4MXVkwFq_UqWKpvpD3m1e2byt4f6Hd4ZJiGdUXHaQg6PzRCb6TxtCIk3qWIKLeeB65NPPSEr/s200/P3070079.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466673416551727762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A corner <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dovecote#Colombiers_.28or_pigeonniers.29_in_mediaeval_France">pigeonnier</a> in St Sulpice-sur-Tarn. I thought is was charming that there was a pigeonnier in town. It fit, and yet seemed an afterthought.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioAxGA8rRNxjCQoOfUSeBhDwfc62wXnsyMVeY4dmvtCqISSEyzlcxm2LY0crnDPBs5kpZ0OIODZPaUKypqlNONwGABV2qAsO59aSNY6BTF0CL5IiBIIoVV_YHi4XaZMI3sxlWceKc5xJ6v/s1600/P3070080.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioAxGA8rRNxjCQoOfUSeBhDwfc62wXnsyMVeY4dmvtCqISSEyzlcxm2LY0crnDPBs5kpZ0OIODZPaUKypqlNONwGABV2qAsO59aSNY6BTF0CL5IiBIIoVV_YHi4XaZMI3sxlWceKc5xJ6v/s200/P3070080.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466673412171208722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Below is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albi">Albi</a>. Super beautiful Albi. The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albi_Cathedral">cathedral</a>--the final picture--is enormous. I went in around 530 and there was a choir practicing for that night's show--so pretty! The insidee of the church is kind of crazy--it's basically a church inside a church, and there are plenty of macbre paintings, mostly of the seven deadlies and the torture for them in Hell. Uplifting!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNdFKBcTBssr63BBaHjSK19Q9Z7-qt_Q636zbJQO3LF0ks8qQaU6s85PuqzxTZvOqv5m6fNDuzuI2RqQ4Ewz4usw8UcXgnZGuU8ZvG0PKgSde2y9cx4SeidCc6oBT14pfEd8FIVDTmHo-/s1600/P3130125.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNdFKBcTBssr63BBaHjSK19Q9Z7-qt_Q636zbJQO3LF0ks8qQaU6s85PuqzxTZvOqv5m6fNDuzuI2RqQ4Ewz4usw8UcXgnZGuU8ZvG0PKgSde2y9cx4SeidCc6oBT14pfEd8FIVDTmHo-/s200/P3130125.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466675880781597026" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSVPTJPlwQZ0Jsw717gSLvyARzBYqhUMvNCaD2rvcPMkOG8L9-_uNuMbl1r963JV3VpdwYp9AAbe3tv5vsPMRUkOuub0XSr1LNmfj6R-Evpsh1jye4ltAc52YroANmjI5fflNYpCAdOw2/s1600/P3130104.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSVPTJPlwQZ0Jsw717gSLvyARzBYqhUMvNCaD2rvcPMkOG8L9-_uNuMbl1r963JV3VpdwYp9AAbe3tv5vsPMRUkOuub0XSr1LNmfj6R-Evpsh1jye4ltAc52YroANmjI5fflNYpCAdOw2/s200/P3130104.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466674716006821858" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBAch5GGoeI0-8MEVFCfG-wO2H9SpXb04cdmRRwrlrNw976sXs2CNgXOVpdBaGjhfQvguEU0gxLDBr4NPOGhSr-LFQ0-joqV_EnO5HSaXBzXjAnufWYQHB3wTRDM5wnBjdEDcXHA7OlB4/s1600/P3130126.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBAch5GGoeI0-8MEVFCfG-wO2H9SpXb04cdmRRwrlrNw976sXs2CNgXOVpdBaGjhfQvguEU0gxLDBr4NPOGhSr-LFQ0-joqV_EnO5HSaXBzXjAnufWYQHB3wTRDM5wnBjdEDcXHA7OlB4/s200/P3130126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466675886326159234" border="0" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-52780264851167275982010-05-02T08:41:00.002-04:002010-05-02T08:53:14.400-04:00The Pleasures of ReadingIn order to improve my French, I've been reading in French exclusively since January. It does help--reading in French gets it into your head more, and my vocabulary improves with the reading, as does my grammar (I hope). However, reading in another language is TOUGH! I am used to burning through books, but now, lost in a sea of new words, I find it difficult to find books that both interest me and that I can understand. In some ways I am reminded of being an overzealous child who wanted like nothing to read books too far advanced for my reading skills. I've read a few from Le petit Nicolas series which were written in the fifties and sixties, I think, and are intended for nine-year-old boys and come with plenty of explanatory pictures. They're great fun to read, and it feels satisfying to read one, because I can finish it in a few days. Other books, however, take a great deal longer. I plowed through Rene Remond's history of the Ancien Regime and the French Revolution, but it was slow going. In English I think I would have enjoyed it much more, and understood a lot more; I enjoyed it all the same, it's just it took a lot of work to read it.<br /><br />I finished Le tour du monde en quatre-vingt jours this morning, a book by Jules Verne for those that don't know. It was somewhat incredulous to read--written at a time when long-distance travel was a novelty, I'm fairly certain he wrote it from an encylcopedia and a map of the world rather than his own experiences. And the attitudes! At the same time, I found the main character, an English gentleman doing the tour of the world in eighty days on a wager, rather paralleling a lot of travellers today. he had no interest in the areas he was travelling through, only in playing whist to while away the long hours on the train. But drop into a hostel anywhere in the world, and you'll find tourists more bent on drinking or seeing the sights listed in their copy of Lonley Planet than interacting in any meaningful way with the people that live there.<br /><br />At any rate, I'm determined to soldier on in my French reperatoire, and hopefully one day the pleasure of reading will find me in French as it has in English.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-18012372677994696352010-05-02T05:41:00.007-04:002010-05-02T08:36:00.795-04:00Bessiere, March 2010Bessiere is about thirty kilometers east of Toulouse. It was an easy ride from the city along a bike path, and then, as an older fellow directed me, you take a right and keep going. My baggage had, however, taken on epic porportions, and I was glad for the short ride--I could barely keep the thing upright for the things I had collected. Cycle touring is not for packrats!<br /><br />Bessieres is a fairly small village alongside the River Tarn. There are plenty of small villages in this area; Buzet-sur-Tarn is only three kilometers down-river, and St Sulpice-sur-Tarn, and the trainstation, less than ten. It felt like another planet, with a Super-U across the street from the farm, and a train station within short and easy cycling distance. After a month on Corsica and a month in the Var, a bit far from everything, this was delux.<br /><br />When I found the farm, I was a bit hesitant. A grand brick chateau at the end of a straight gravel road, fixed at the end with a locked gate, I was having flashbacks of my arrival in Sacy-le-Petit. That was my share of aristocracy, and I didn't want any extra! Once I got in, though, I was much reassured. The family that I was living with lived in the little farm house to the side; the chateau--and it was--was her parents. They'd bought the place in ruin twenty years ago, and have been transforming it since. It's quite beautiful inside, and as grand within as without. (The pictures I took were crap, and as I'm returning in a few weeks, I'll get newer and better ones to post).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_MmmHQpcGWOlde7fvMOIwS5WLPj_SQnw4rC2EXXHkQqnqKWFJgO-0t5lVy7JTeiUEjQhAvzW1Q2hixO3WJ9D6e2itkql3KlfCe6r5UgpAYggukOOIK-Q4aophXrNWU75AinH6DeX39Q0/s1600/P2280046.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_MmmHQpcGWOlde7fvMOIwS5WLPj_SQnw4rC2EXXHkQqnqKWFJgO-0t5lVy7JTeiUEjQhAvzW1Q2hixO3WJ9D6e2itkql3KlfCe6r5UgpAYggukOOIK-Q4aophXrNWU75AinH6DeX39Q0/s200/P2280046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466612933544025474" border="0" /></a><br />This is the view out my window, looking into the woodlot beside the house. There were some beautiful nights here, and the trees nearer to the house seemed to be full of restless birds at night. The room I was in was unheated, which was not a problem, really. It was great for sleeping--since I like it colder--but it<br />was difficult to get out of bed in the morning!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR0rujaUOzH0GSOABorWJrJp9v6k-TB6ljSZNHBmqacgSU4NhxUzApgvj78FqckrnGoE0SrOvfy-JxDZh2aSkPBXV5lXSjO-EX45qlGTBm4DMRdAc0E_iIcO-XXgda5_GZKKyqbupShv4k/s1600/IMG_2378.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR0rujaUOzH0GSOABorWJrJp9v6k-TB6ljSZNHBmqacgSU4NhxUzApgvj78FqckrnGoE0SrOvfy-JxDZh2aSkPBXV5lXSjO-EX45qlGTBm4DMRdAc0E_iIcO-XXgda5_GZKKyqbupShv4k/s200/IMG_2378.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466612915880152034" border="0" /></a>Berangere rents land a few kilometers from Besseres. Her father is renovating a space for WWOOFers, which will have a kitchen and whatnot, and we spent a couple of days filling up the trailor and taking the broken bits of wall to the field, where we smashed up the bigger bits to fill the potholes. What fun...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgSG-caBLWaloFEf60R6wLIbqcj5MJX3YRG-15aJKrePsQjXtoczXoH7JX1eYkFfTeJ6tpSAwYxuJ_MfRTci6qTRqPSH0nxjvkKLaDRAra127DgmkD1sBFzXDuN0g3qWL9JzBIwXh-nTn/s1600/IMG_2377.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgSG-caBLWaloFEf60R6wLIbqcj5MJX3YRG-15aJKrePsQjXtoczXoH7JX1eYkFfTeJ6tpSAwYxuJ_MfRTci6qTRqPSH0nxjvkKLaDRAra127DgmkD1sBFzXDuN0g3qWL9JzBIwXh-nTn/s200/IMG_2377.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466611347056338098" border="0" /></a>Me...doing something in the greenhouse. There are two greenhouses in the field where we worked most of the time. She was doing produce baskets when I was there, once every two weeks, so we got to harvest what winter crops there were--a lot of radishes, blete (which might be Swiss Chard--and tastey with a cream sauce!) spinach, manche, salad. Harvesting tends to be satisfying work.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyS9ae5k05eLHobQKe3_PYj7WVYRsB9TypBz7HosYfiqAGV3fuEkGIxr9suk1sk_B3mBVWR_OgJEvMgPbuzHXhL4nJKI8QdQmziMi340aAsIMBWGXxCqNnpm0XkhKI7YAt1_ahHCBX9dL/s1600/P3150135.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyS9ae5k05eLHobQKe3_PYj7WVYRsB9TypBz7HosYfiqAGV3fuEkGIxr9suk1sk_B3mBVWR_OgJEvMgPbuzHXhL4nJKI8QdQmziMi340aAsIMBWGXxCqNnpm0XkhKI7YAt1_ahHCBX9dL/s200/P3150135.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466612925150382322" border="0" /></a>The blete in question.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJvlww_1Pap4f-DYe1jm4bSLUHdDNkaNUsoNXaW80BaTwKF6hd2mtDsG8R0xvViFNX3Ci_ldyi06xkRhHrL66Ph6ulrdTjyXoiDCrIQ1aU8Zhk0PbnrThxU1ywS8f02YywQP24p7x-I78I/s1600/IMG_2324.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJvlww_1Pap4f-DYe1jm4bSLUHdDNkaNUsoNXaW80BaTwKF6hd2mtDsG8R0xvViFNX3Ci_ldyi06xkRhHrL66Ph6ulrdTjyXoiDCrIQ1aU8Zhk0PbnrThxU1ywS8f02YywQP24p7x-I78I/s200/IMG_2324.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466610369791633202" border="0" /></a>We also did a lot of transplanting--seedlings to pots, small plants into the field or the greenhouse. When it snowed and was cold for a week, we did plenty of seeding, an indoor job we did in her kitchen with lots of coffee.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinV5BHlMxWVqkDw9qUms8FZLGyatsNtiqDa1O5-4uEfIV90QheZqQN5V5E5HWUWsuUYlVvf8txXDFKtDULNhUi5alsSttdgF4V_MrZytHDiXm8sayy_0bT-0cRiMS-Y4Cc49KRrbwxOL-W/s1600/IMG_2334.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinV5BHlMxWVqkDw9qUms8FZLGyatsNtiqDa1O5-4uEfIV90QheZqQN5V5E5HWUWsuUYlVvf8txXDFKtDULNhUi5alsSttdgF4V_MrZytHDiXm8sayy_0bT-0cRiMS-Y4Cc49KRrbwxOL-W/s200/IMG_2334.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466611349173734386" border="0" /></a>There was also a smaller greenhouse at the house, where all the seedlings were growing. It was quite beautiful and almost tropical inside.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqQ24z3spEkfo-pd-kudKProP8w3MuWvS422LzAJgsDLyJew31D6PH8s1oWWn112buSd-WNCl4zVip6jZ06oyrPB76A1Vh0nSdgq3pJQUwS90I-ChI5PXtMvF7G7rrsgfafmwixhwX970/s1600/IMG_2232.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqQ24z3spEkfo-pd-kudKProP8w3MuWvS422LzAJgsDLyJew31D6PH8s1oWWn112buSd-WNCl4zVip6jZ06oyrPB76A1Vh0nSdgq3pJQUwS90I-ChI5PXtMvF7G7rrsgfafmwixhwX970/s200/IMG_2232.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466610390959314146" border="0" /></a>This is Andy and I and Tegan, his two-year-old daughter. He and his wife, Helen, were travelling in France and Spain with Tegan for two months. Here we are preparing flats of potting soil for planting seeds.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfwgIqCEykynqa9Ch4dygad-9xHwNPkUIa4IsybQpkisYVi5J6vc0vJgqzXjum7eeb5C0IIicM7kwOrU7iCgoXnU8TeqC8fEwii3qNAjA2LGSBvfJeYiWDrxU4A-LHXezn0YC1iE5U12z/s1600/IMG_2332.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXfwgIqCEykynqa9Ch4dygad-9xHwNPkUIa4IsybQpkisYVi5J6vc0vJgqzXjum7eeb5C0IIicM7kwOrU7iCgoXnU8TeqC8fEwii3qNAjA2LGSBvfJeYiWDrxU4A-LHXezn0YC1iE5U12z/s200/IMG_2332.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466610377040005090" border="0" /></a>Helen and I preparing the soil for planting leeks in. We were mixing potting soil, vermiculite, and some sort of organic fertiliser that stunk of chicken shit. Tegan got in there near the end.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT0eqjvO1GhCwDWG8qIQTTMkbfYlN5RHm16MWr-thTuIa0_ApRHlTHtUTwiBaNqvkbQdWw-sFhpeZvRQaczpdngaRG7ZRKWSeDYBhkngBA1-0JFVd4Z4ZbFrt5__Dqpaf97qY44dQp6ceQ/s1600/IMG_2348.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT0eqjvO1GhCwDWG8qIQTTMkbfYlN5RHm16MWr-thTuIa0_ApRHlTHtUTwiBaNqvkbQdWw-sFhpeZvRQaczpdngaRG7ZRKWSeDYBhkngBA1-0JFVd4Z4ZbFrt5__Dqpaf97qY44dQp6ceQ/s200/IMG_2348.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466607665526596098" border="0" /></a>The future home of WWOOFers! Andy and I spent a cold afternoon smashing out some of the cement, taking out the watering system that used to be in there from when it was a stable. I've seen it since, and it's coming along rather nicely. I'm expecting to get to live in it when I return in June.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-17621795440242066152010-04-19T13:48:00.001-04:002010-04-19T13:52:06.125-04:00Back in FranceSigh. It is where I belong these days. The weather is better, my bicycle is here, and I'm living with a Dutch family on a big ol' farm. I spent the day planting tournimbour, also known as Jerusalem Artichokes, or Sunchokes. Digging soil in the hot sun made our fabulous lunch taste all the better, and it was lovely to transplant strawberries in the shade this afternoon.<br /><br />Last week we put the plastic up over the new greenhouse, which required six people to orchestrate, and co-operation from the wind. It was a satisfying job.<br /><br />I'm also WWOOFing with a friend from Vancouver, which makes bike trips all the more fun. We may be cycling and camping this weekend...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-14974697811001419472010-03-30T16:07:00.003-04:002010-03-30T16:13:15.712-04:00Late BloomersBefore I started travelling, I was really disappointed that I hadn't yet. Everyone seems to go off travelling in their late teens or early twenties, but I didn't start until I was 26. However, since I started travelling, I've often felt relieved that I didn't start until I was a little older. Travel, like so many other things, is thoroughly wasted on the young. The number of people I see who are in fantastic locations with amazing people living all around them, but who chose to stick to English, hang out with other English speakers, and spend their time getting really, really drunk astounds me. This is pretty much applicable to ALL language groups. Now, I've met some fabulous people who were travelling like I was, and I love meeting other travellers. But one has to move beyond one's normal boundaries to discover new things, and hanging with the same old in a new locale is not pushing yourself to do anything new. Also, I've become a fan of sleep. I literally ragefully hate people who keep me from it. Like Johnny Depp said, in your twenties, you brag about how little sleep you get. In your thirties (well, he may have said forties, but I'm not there yet), you brag about how much sleep you get.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-36559496899384702902010-03-29T06:04:00.007-04:002010-03-29T07:07:12.233-04:00Back into TouristlandAfter four months of living in France with French families, it is strange to find myself a tourist again. It was a bit surreal arriving in Spain a few days ago and losing my ability to understand what is going on around me: I never spoke much Spanish, and the last time I used it was in Mexico and Guatemala five years ago. French has triumphed--it has successfully pushed all Spanish out of my brain completely. At the train station I couldn't even remember the word for tomorrow! Because I associate Spanish with Mexico and Central/South America, I've had images of dusty cowboy frontiers in my head since I arrived.<br /><br />Language makes a huge difference. In France, when I have a coffee in a cafe or when I shop at the market, I can and do have conversations with people. In Spain I am cut off from everything but the English speaking tourist world. I find myself seeking out French speakers when I sit in the hostel lobby, or when I'm wandering the boulevards. English speakers are a last resort; last night I shared a room with a group of French people and their American friend; it was a great night of sangria and English/French conversation. Sunday night in Barcelona turned out to be not too bad--at 2am we found a red-lit bar with bazouki-fusion music and a tired waitress.<br /><br />Barcelona is beautiful. My first day of wandering about, I litterally stopped in my tracks and nearly exclaimed, 'Gaudi!' Barcelona is studded with his works, including the candyland hallucination Parc Güell. I spent forever just sketching and marvelling, watching people and listening to the musicians in a mosaic-covered cavern.<br /><br />It's been fabulously sunny lately, and I spent one afternoon watching the skaters ramp along the square in front of the MAC BA and CCCB, two art contemporary art and culture galleries. MAC BA had an exhibit of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rodney_Graham">Rodney Graham</a>'s work, and if anyone can explain why his work is so revered, please explain it to me, because I find him thoroughly boring. (NB: he was born in Abottsford!) <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Baldessari">John Baldessari</a>'s work, however, cracks me up. I also enjoyed <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%96yvind_Fahlstr%C3%B6m">öyvind Fahlström</a>'s '<a href="http://www.fahlstrom.com/09_films.asp?id=9&subid=1">Mao-Hope March</a>', <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eleanor_Antin">Eleanor Antin</a>'s '<a href="http://www.pbs.org/art21/artists/antin/art_boots.html">100 Boots</a>', and Miralda's 'Pas mal,' and 'Pas mal de tout.' The CCCB had a show called Atopia, on the city and the civilian. There were some wonderful works there, including the whimsical if somehow disturbing sculptures by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erwin_Wurm">Erwin Wurm</a>, especially '<a href="http://www.xavierhufkens.com/artists/?artist_intro=Erwin_Wurm&gclid=CMuHnp_n3aACFQOZ2AodXi5dDw">Squirt</a>', and the plainly bizarre sculptures of <a href="http://www.evanpenny.com/">Evan Penny</a>. I also really enjoyed Nuno Cara's photography series, 'Room with a View'.<br /><br />Yesterday was Palm Sunday, and there was a slow procession up the main street of a sculpture of Jesus on a donkey. At La Sagrada Família, mass was in progress outside, and the park facing it was overrun with families. It was a good picture day.<br /><br />Thanks to the forces of colonisation, I'll be back en francais by the end of the week (more of less). Until then, I'll be getting a sunburn and buying postcards whilts bungling the Spanish language...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-30214084315974093042010-03-20T10:55:00.002-04:002010-03-20T10:58:54.087-04:00April letters!Because I prefer them to showers!<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; "><table width="90%" align="center"><tbody><tr><td width="40%">c/o Houthof/Schipper</td><td><b><br /></b></td></tr><tr><td colspan="2">St.Martin deVere<br />81140<br />Castelnau de Montmiral</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I don't know if you need the first line or not--the last names of the hosts--but I thought I'd put it in, since it looks a little skinny if it isn't there. I'll be there until the 15th of May, so you've been warned! You have until the 5th of May, I would guess, to get something sent. You've got plenty of time!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I'm off to Toulouse tomorrow and then to Spain and Morocco. Oh my life!</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3068595036284493456.post-89231021298078878882010-03-15T16:43:00.004-04:002010-03-15T17:10:32.980-04:00Well, it's finally starting to warm up in France! After a week of freezing weather, it may all be over soon. I'm staying in an unheated bedroom full of sprouting potatoes, and I'm craving a bit of hot weather. The thought of swimming in the Mediterranean this summer perks me up more than a strong cup of coffee these days.<div><br /></div><div>Sunday I'm off to Toulouse for a few days, then I leave for Morocco, one way or another! This may include a train trip through southern Spain, but I have yet to decide. Morocco looks great, and I'm excited for the mini holiday. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm living with a family on a property--a proper property. When I first arrived, staring throught the gate at the sprawling chateau, I thought I'd made a mistake. I've had my fill of chateaus (and the attitudes that go along with them), or was I at the wrong address?</div><div><br /></div><div>Berangere's parents live in the chateau that they've been reconstructing for the last twenty years. The two impressive towers at either end are pigeon towers (pictures to come), something that is really common in this part of France. Berangere and her family live in the smaller house, and she rents a feild in the neighbouring town, where she has two very large greenhouses and plenty of field to work. She has been doing regular basket delivery--a little like Green Earth Organics, or other delivery systems, but this is farm direct. In May, she's starting up with AMAP, a co-operative of farmers who pool their produce together so sell. In other words: I'm finally learning something! I've arranged to come back in early June, so those of you who are inclined to write, you can send me mail here (check my March address for the actual address...) That also means that I get to see what became of all the things I'm planting now. I'm hoping to coincide with strawberry season, even if strawberry picking is slow and tedious.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was the first WWOOFer this year, and it's been two weeks of harvesting winter vegetables, and prepering the earth for plowing. The snow and cold kept us closer to home the last week, so we've been sewing seeds and transplanting seedlings in the small greenhouse in the backyard. 5 degrees in the greenhouse beats 2 degrees outside in the wind. I'm trying to develope a greater appreciation of radishes--I'm not the biggest fan, but they are one of the earliest garden rewards, and they are quite pretty all bundled up in a rosette. I've also discovered manche, a winter lettuce that I've only encountered in France so far, and blette, which I suspect is a sturdier cousin of swiss chard. I made a raclette sauce for the blette this evening--delicious.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've also discovered Godeale--something like good ale in the name, and what a wonderful beer! Not the dark and molasses I usually go for, but golden and super tasty. Look for it, beer drinkers! Wine is overwhelming here, I have to say. There is a whole aisle of red wine, and only a skinny self of beer, so when I don't have the energy to concentrate, it's easier to pick a French beer than a French wine. I'm also less interested in red these days, and the white selection is much slimmer and more expensive than the reds. I need to drink more water anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've been devouring graphic novels since Jean-Fred showed me their library of band dessiné. Trois Ombres by Cyril Pedrosa, and Muchacho by Emmanuel Lepage were both fantastic. I've got Le Combat Odinaire by Manu Larcenet at my side for when I'm ready to brave the cold of my room! They've got Chris Ware and Craig Thompson in French, but I'm not tempted enough to read them again. Have I mentioned how great the French graphic novels are? The selection is incredible...</div><div><br /></div><div>I should have an address for April soon--keep on the lookout!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5