I remembered what I wanted to say the other day! Europe, and especially France, is full of tramps. On the front steps of public buildings and in many train stations, one can see young people dressed in high black boots and other outlandish clothing, often with facial piercings, tattoos, and bizarre haircuts, usually in groups of three or four, with a dog or two in tow. I do not know if they are trying to make a statement about society, do not feel that they fit in with it, or just do not care, but they appear to be much more prevalent here than back home.
I was mostly met with frustration this morning. In fact, there were only two real frustrations. While the subway in Lyon is quite good, and I have only seen one person flouting the interdiction against smoking there, French people have a habit of ceasing to walk as soon as they enter a car in the subway. That is, once, they are inside, they crowd around the door instead of moving further into the car to let other people in. They do the exact same thing when they get in and out of trains, a trait that may be linked to their psychotic driving: they look out for number one and nobody else. My other frustration was that I have gotten a little tired of running across train platforms to try to find the right carriage to enter according to my reservation; the French system of reservations gets infuriating after awhile. In Germany, one has a reservation for a certain route, day, and class -- that is it. One can choose any carriage in that class and any train (of the right type -- intercity and regional trains are different) going in the right direction. This system is much more convenient than the French one, as it is so much more flexible, and, since passengers of German trains are allowed to stand, it does not result in trains' being overbooked.
Enough of complaining. Reins was quite interesting. As soon as the train started to pull into its rail station, I saw the same hopelessly-old houses lining the railway tracks as I had gotten used to seeing; I was in France again (having escaped from Clermont-Ferrand). To be honest, Reins was a little like Amiens plus a fantastic Roman arch: there was not that much to see in the city center. It was hard to find a decent place to eat, though I did get some fresh fruit today. Fresh, reasonably-priced fruit has been hard to find in France; I have mostly relied on canned vegetables and fruit juice here; the only fruits that have been reasonably-priced have been apricots and, curiously, figs.
I have diverged from Reins. The town had a few points of interest, and its cathedral was fantastic, but the real events of the day were the train station's not having any storage lockers, forcing me to take my luggage with me on my tour through the town, and my suitcase's having broken down. One of its wheels suddenly stopped working, probably as the result of a few years of stress; it appears that the wheel's spoke has broken. I had an exciting time dragging it around through Reims and probably got a pretty good workout.
Lille itself is extraordinary, probably the most exciting big city that I have so far visited, though it is hard to compare it with Lyon, of which I saw so little. Lille immediately reminded me a little of Dusseldorf, as it is a very modern city that has kept much of its historic charm. Its streets are a little like Nancy's or Paris', very broad, but the facades of buildings lining the streets are much more interesting, as they are so variegated. They coming in every color, from blue to deep purple to orange, and have all sorts of ornamentation. These streets go on for block after block through the entire historical center of the city, which is very large. I did not get to see all of it today, but I nonetheless passed a very impressive theater, several museums, and a couple of old city gates (but not that old -- probably from the nineteenth century). Like many other historical French cities, Lille has little plaques here and there throughout its old town that describe the city's history and the history of specific buildings in it.
Lille was a real find for me: I decided to visit it only because of its proximity to Belgium but have discovered that it is an amazingly lively and culturally-developed city (It does not hurt that today was Music Day; tons of people were, and are, out in the streets.). Lille would be a nice place to relax for a couple days if only I were not scheduled to see Chartres tomorrow -- oh, the travails of travel! -- and leave for Belgium on Monday. I am going to have time to see more of Lille on Monday and will have tomorrow evening to unwind, though, and I am going to get a new suitcase on Monday morning.
The last few days have been interesting in terms of expectations and reality: Lyon was amazing, but I had too little time to see it, to get a real feel for the atmosphere of its streets, because of a scheduling error; Clermont-Ferrand sucked, and skipping it would have given me ample time to see Lyon; Lille has turned out to be amazing, and it would have been nice to spend a bit more time here; and, to jump back a bit, I regret having visited Nantes at all, as it was an expensive side-trip and was too short to give me much of a sense of Brittany. Slightly more realistic planning would have helped me avoid some of the above pitfalls; one's research can sometimes help one figure out which places will be worth visiting and which will not be; but some of this is entirely up to chance. One cannot always tell in advance which cities one will like and which ones one will dislike; perhaps the best perspective to take is that one is lucky to have the chance to visit any of them at all.
In short, unless Chartres blows me away, I will declare Lille and Rouen the only cities (besides Angers, I suppose) in northern France that are seriously worth visiting -- that is, the only cities that are enjoyable to visit, if not the only ones with important cultural monuments. The north of France seems to have more conifers than the France, probably because warm climes, unless I am mistaken, favor angiosperms; and grocery stores have again turned out to be my friends. I a mostly trying to eat cheaply in Lille, as my hotel does not appear to be near any good grocery stores, and I might now have enough food for the next three days. (In case anyone is interested, I often buy bread, cheese, fruit juice, mixed vegetables, canned fish (sometimes), a low-fat sausage similar to beef jerky, and, sometimes, yogurt at grocery stores here (or fresh fruit, if it is cheap).) Half-timbered houses, I noted, also seem to be more common in the north of France than in the south, possibly because people had less lumber, historically, in the south (I am making this up.).
I am tired! I need to get some work done tomorrow evening; I have checked off the next four evenings for finishing my grant proposal, which should be a ball. (It will be nice to have it off of my hands.) I should probably have more time to devote to these letters once I have finished my actual work, though I will probably want to spend it on other writing. I am supposed to note the big, open spaces in Lille. The other point of note is that I have been reading more for the past few days. I have found Hermann Hesse exceptionally-easy reading: most of what he writes is so flowery and abstract that one can skip a few pages if one's attention wanders -- and it will wander when one reads him -- without missing anything at all. One feels, having read some pages of Hesse, as if one has visited a Viennese coffee shop, trying a bit of this, a bit of that, and leaving feeling dainty and mildly satisfied by one's light repast. I am going to start reading Natalia Ginzburg once I am through with Hesse and will probably continue reading her until the end of the summer.
Goodnight, everybody!
I was mostly met with frustration this morning. In fact, there were only two real frustrations. While the subway in Lyon is quite good, and I have only seen one person flouting the interdiction against smoking there, French people have a habit of ceasing to walk as soon as they enter a car in the subway. That is, once, they are inside, they crowd around the door instead of moving further into the car to let other people in. They do the exact same thing when they get in and out of trains, a trait that may be linked to their psychotic driving: they look out for number one and nobody else. My other frustration was that I have gotten a little tired of running across train platforms to try to find the right carriage to enter according to my reservation; the French system of reservations gets infuriating after awhile. In Germany, one has a reservation for a certain route, day, and class -- that is it. One can choose any carriage in that class and any train (of the right type -- intercity and regional trains are different) going in the right direction. This system is much more convenient than the French one, as it is so much more flexible, and, since passengers of German trains are allowed to stand, it does not result in trains' being overbooked.
Enough of complaining. Reins was quite interesting. As soon as the train started to pull into its rail station, I saw the same hopelessly-old houses lining the railway tracks as I had gotten used to seeing; I was in France again (having escaped from Clermont-Ferrand). To be honest, Reins was a little like Amiens plus a fantastic Roman arch: there was not that much to see in the city center. It was hard to find a decent place to eat, though I did get some fresh fruit today. Fresh, reasonably-priced fruit has been hard to find in France; I have mostly relied on canned vegetables and fruit juice here; the only fruits that have been reasonably-priced have been apricots and, curiously, figs.
I have diverged from Reins. The town had a few points of interest, and its cathedral was fantastic, but the real events of the day were the train station's not having any storage lockers, forcing me to take my luggage with me on my tour through the town, and my suitcase's having broken down. One of its wheels suddenly stopped working, probably as the result of a few years of stress; it appears that the wheel's spoke has broken. I had an exciting time dragging it around through Reims and probably got a pretty good workout.
Lille itself is extraordinary, probably the most exciting big city that I have so far visited, though it is hard to compare it with Lyon, of which I saw so little. Lille immediately reminded me a little of Dusseldorf, as it is a very modern city that has kept much of its historic charm. Its streets are a little like Nancy's or Paris', very broad, but the facades of buildings lining the streets are much more interesting, as they are so variegated. They coming in every color, from blue to deep purple to orange, and have all sorts of ornamentation. These streets go on for block after block through the entire historical center of the city, which is very large. I did not get to see all of it today, but I nonetheless passed a very impressive theater, several museums, and a couple of old city gates (but not that old -- probably from the nineteenth century). Like many other historical French cities, Lille has little plaques here and there throughout its old town that describe the city's history and the history of specific buildings in it.
Lille was a real find for me: I decided to visit it only because of its proximity to Belgium but have discovered that it is an amazingly lively and culturally-developed city (It does not hurt that today was Music Day; tons of people were, and are, out in the streets.). Lille would be a nice place to relax for a couple days if only I were not scheduled to see Chartres tomorrow -- oh, the travails of travel! -- and leave for Belgium on Monday. I am going to have time to see more of Lille on Monday and will have tomorrow evening to unwind, though, and I am going to get a new suitcase on Monday morning.
The last few days have been interesting in terms of expectations and reality: Lyon was amazing, but I had too little time to see it, to get a real feel for the atmosphere of its streets, because of a scheduling error; Clermont-Ferrand sucked, and skipping it would have given me ample time to see Lyon; Lille has turned out to be amazing, and it would have been nice to spend a bit more time here; and, to jump back a bit, I regret having visited Nantes at all, as it was an expensive side-trip and was too short to give me much of a sense of Brittany. Slightly more realistic planning would have helped me avoid some of the above pitfalls; one's research can sometimes help one figure out which places will be worth visiting and which will not be; but some of this is entirely up to chance. One cannot always tell in advance which cities one will like and which ones one will dislike; perhaps the best perspective to take is that one is lucky to have the chance to visit any of them at all.
In short, unless Chartres blows me away, I will declare Lille and Rouen the only cities (besides Angers, I suppose) in northern France that are seriously worth visiting -- that is, the only cities that are enjoyable to visit, if not the only ones with important cultural monuments. The north of France seems to have more conifers than the France, probably because warm climes, unless I am mistaken, favor angiosperms; and grocery stores have again turned out to be my friends. I a mostly trying to eat cheaply in Lille, as my hotel does not appear to be near any good grocery stores, and I might now have enough food for the next three days. (In case anyone is interested, I often buy bread, cheese, fruit juice, mixed vegetables, canned fish (sometimes), a low-fat sausage similar to beef jerky, and, sometimes, yogurt at grocery stores here (or fresh fruit, if it is cheap).) Half-timbered houses, I noted, also seem to be more common in the north of France than in the south, possibly because people had less lumber, historically, in the south (I am making this up.).
I am tired! I need to get some work done tomorrow evening; I have checked off the next four evenings for finishing my grant proposal, which should be a ball. (It will be nice to have it off of my hands.) I should probably have more time to devote to these letters once I have finished my actual work, though I will probably want to spend it on other writing. I am supposed to note the big, open spaces in Lille. The other point of note is that I have been reading more for the past few days. I have found Hermann Hesse exceptionally-easy reading: most of what he writes is so flowery and abstract that one can skip a few pages if one's attention wanders -- and it will wander when one reads him -- without missing anything at all. One feels, having read some pages of Hesse, as if one has visited a Viennese coffee shop, trying a bit of this, a bit of that, and leaving feeling dainty and mildly satisfied by one's light repast. I am going to start reading Natalia Ginzburg once I am through with Hesse and will probably continue reading her until the end of the summer.
Goodnight, everybody!
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| My camera turned this Roman arch sideways. |
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