The strike was the talk of the town today. "That's France," people keep saying. "If it's not the schools, it's the trains, and if it's not the trains, it's the police -- or pilots, or janitors, or anyone else who has a job." The only immediate results of the strike that are obvious to the traveller, besides train schedules' being thrown out of whack and the lessening of the number of trains that run, is that the few people left at the train station have to work their asses off to deal with the same number of patrons as the train station would be facing on full staff. People are stacked several deep in line to talk to railway officials; stations themselves are filling up like Versailles, as there are not enough trains to take them away; and people are reduced to standing on train rides that typically require reservations, the number of which is strictly controlled. The stations themselves are not all too hot, but they are still uncomfortable: rather than being roasted in them, one is slow-cooked, as the heat of the bumping, rubbing, jostling crowd makes one gradually wilt.
It is business as usual in France, in other words.
As it turned out, my train to Toulouse was not seriously delayed. I spent the early part of it talking to a fellow traveller, a Frenchwoman from Nimes who knew all of the places in France that I mentioned and shared my desire to explore (the interesting parts of) the known world. The landscape in southern France reminded me of northern California, only the hills were thickly carpeted with trees and, in places, had little settlements climbing up them, settlements centered around stone churches, with the same tawny, stucco houses as in Bordeaux. We passed some spectacular white cliffs, a great many vineyards, some more boring lowlands, and, at one point, a river. The only part of Europe in which I can remember seeing such a profusion of trees of so many different species was, if my memory holds, my very favorite, Lake Konstanz. I must have seen several dozen species of trees on my way from Bordeaux to Toulouse.
By the time I got to Toulouse, I had accepted that I would not have time to see Albi, a nearby town that I had been hoping to visit because it is on the UNESCO World Heritage list and I had heard that Toulouse was uninspiring. Toulouse itself, though, turned out to be fascinating. It has vastly more parks and greenery than Bordeaux, some wonderful statuary, including a massive war memorial, and fascinating architecture. While the churches and cathedral here are fairly run-of-the-mill and, besides an old granary, there are not too many buildings left that give one a specific idea of what life was like here in the Middle Ages, the streets themselves are very interesting and highlight the difference between, say, Toulouse and Paris (or Nancy): they are narrow, like those in Bordeaux, and are lined by buildings of nearly the same height with white, shuttered windows and facades in all different colors of red, yellow, ochre, and maroon. A man on the train mentioned to me, the other day, that Bordeaux felt a lot like Spain, and Toulouse felt almost more so (one assumes, not having been to Spain). Announcements on the subway, which was the best that I had seen in France, if a little small, were made in French and Spanish, and one presumes that a lot of Spaniards come to study at the university.
Toulouse had a much more open feel than Bordeaux. One is reminded that the city is on a river, unlike in Bordeaux, as one feels the cool air coming off of it; there are multitudes of pedestrian walkways; tons of people ride bikes here; and the city is full of cafes, bars, restaurants, and, of course, bakeries, which I sadly walked past. Toulouse is a sort of antidote to the nightmarish furnace of Bordeaux.
My most interesting interaction with anybody today was my talking to a native of Toulouse who claimed, when a conflict in Iraq came up on the news, that much of the Arab world is not ready for democracy. While there may be truth to his claim, as it is possible that some countries are socially and politically ripe for democracy, while others are not, what interested me was the man's categorical thinking, as it reminded me of the categorical thinking of Russians. "Taking steam baths is good for your health," they claim. "It aids your digestion." Running, on the other hand, is bad for you, as it wears out your joints. The French seem completely at peace with the fact that nothing in their country works -- "there is another strike," they say; "such is life" -- just like the Russians, who are faced daily with a plethora of sociopolitical contradictions and have no other option but to accept them or leave. I continued to be struck by the backwardness of this country, as, just as I thought of Poland as a more easterly version of Germany before I visited it, I thought of France as a version of Germany in which people ate baguettes and talked as though they had their fingers up their noses. It turns out that exposure to new cultures teaches us more about them than speculation.
I am off to Avignon tomorrow; I have already accepted that I will not have time for Carcassonne. I have remained tired, having dozed off for a couple of hours before dinner, and have stopped cursing myself for having tried to fit too much into this trip, as it was a natural mistake to make, given that I learn only by mistakes and had not made this one before. Last year, I had spare days in places like Frankfurt and Prague, days in which, I felt, I could have fit in more sightseeing if I had only planned more prudently. I did not realize, at the time, that downtime was necessary, as I had never had a trip without it, and trying to see too much all at once was a natural reaction to not having seen enough, in a manner of speaking, all at once. Again, I have learned my lesson, and I will know what to do on future trips. On the plus side, having way too much to see and way too many places to visit makes time fly, which is a plus when one is thousands of miles from home and alone. I hope to be able to get more work done, somehow, over the next few days. I am going to be spending my days amidst Roman ruins, which could be the highlight of this trip.
My final notes include that Bordeaux had a morning market, which I passed on the way to the train station; I have no idea why markets seem to be more common in Europe than in North America, but I can say with certainty that North Americans are fascinated by them. The French have a pathological aversion to making eye contact or to sitting next to one another on public transport: they will continue to stand, even if there are places free, and they will often take up one and a half spots, like jerk-off drivers, preventing less contact-averse people from siting down. Interestingly, the French are much more likely than most North Americans to touch one on the arm or shoulder in casual conversation; I guess that they just do not like to have their thighs or shoulders rub together, to which neither Russians nor I have the slightest aversion. Based on my limited experience, Germans are polite enough to make room for one on the bus even if they do not want to have anyone sit next to them; I never thought to look for this quality amongst people of any other country.
My only other note appears to be that the Loire has a surprisingly-low population given the fertility of its land. Rather, that is one of two notes, the second being that the cathedral in Nantes had tessellated stained glass, which I had not so far seen. My gauge for stained glass' quality is usually its colors' vividness, in which case churches and cathedrals in Angers, Bordeaux, and Toulouse have had the best stained glass that I have seen. To leave you with a final thought, I met an Italian from Messina today and saw him cooking ravioli and tomato sauce (this is not supposed to be some sort of racial joke; this is leading up to something), and I am going to finish off my groceries from Bordeaux tomorrow morning, having eaten nothing but them and a small, custard-filled roll (I did not walk past every single bakery.) since Thursday afternoon. The point of my anecdote about the Italian is that I am going to start cooking a little more on this trip, as long as I have the opportunity, as it is often more rewarding than eating out, especially given the amount of money (a lot) that one saves. I am still hunting after pork cheeks and either fowl or duck, and I still want to try the gelato in Annecy and a fancy pastry at some point, but I feel, at this point, that I have more or less tried the local specialties. The best food that I have had in France was in Chamonix, with Angers and Strasbourg coming in second and third, respectively; the best ice cream that I have had, and the only ice cream that I have had on this trip, was in Rouen; and I have no idea where I have eaten the best pastry, but that was probably also in Chamonix.
I have one more realization for you, which is that, while this hostel is pretty good and cost a third as much as most of the hotels in which I have been staying, I was not looking forward to getting here until I found it; I realized that I am getting less and less into staying in hostels. While economizing on trips is important, and I will have to find newer and better ways of doing so (such as not booking non-refundable hotel rooms for the wrong night and not visiting exorbitantly-expensive areas) in future, one also wants to enjoy oneself, and it is worth paying money to do that. I will be curious to see what kinds of strategies and stances on spending I adopt over the next few years; it is very hard to tell in advance what they will be.
It is business as usual in France, in other words.
As it turned out, my train to Toulouse was not seriously delayed. I spent the early part of it talking to a fellow traveller, a Frenchwoman from Nimes who knew all of the places in France that I mentioned and shared my desire to explore (the interesting parts of) the known world. The landscape in southern France reminded me of northern California, only the hills were thickly carpeted with trees and, in places, had little settlements climbing up them, settlements centered around stone churches, with the same tawny, stucco houses as in Bordeaux. We passed some spectacular white cliffs, a great many vineyards, some more boring lowlands, and, at one point, a river. The only part of Europe in which I can remember seeing such a profusion of trees of so many different species was, if my memory holds, my very favorite, Lake Konstanz. I must have seen several dozen species of trees on my way from Bordeaux to Toulouse.
By the time I got to Toulouse, I had accepted that I would not have time to see Albi, a nearby town that I had been hoping to visit because it is on the UNESCO World Heritage list and I had heard that Toulouse was uninspiring. Toulouse itself, though, turned out to be fascinating. It has vastly more parks and greenery than Bordeaux, some wonderful statuary, including a massive war memorial, and fascinating architecture. While the churches and cathedral here are fairly run-of-the-mill and, besides an old granary, there are not too many buildings left that give one a specific idea of what life was like here in the Middle Ages, the streets themselves are very interesting and highlight the difference between, say, Toulouse and Paris (or Nancy): they are narrow, like those in Bordeaux, and are lined by buildings of nearly the same height with white, shuttered windows and facades in all different colors of red, yellow, ochre, and maroon. A man on the train mentioned to me, the other day, that Bordeaux felt a lot like Spain, and Toulouse felt almost more so (one assumes, not having been to Spain). Announcements on the subway, which was the best that I had seen in France, if a little small, were made in French and Spanish, and one presumes that a lot of Spaniards come to study at the university.
Toulouse had a much more open feel than Bordeaux. One is reminded that the city is on a river, unlike in Bordeaux, as one feels the cool air coming off of it; there are multitudes of pedestrian walkways; tons of people ride bikes here; and the city is full of cafes, bars, restaurants, and, of course, bakeries, which I sadly walked past. Toulouse is a sort of antidote to the nightmarish furnace of Bordeaux.
My most interesting interaction with anybody today was my talking to a native of Toulouse who claimed, when a conflict in Iraq came up on the news, that much of the Arab world is not ready for democracy. While there may be truth to his claim, as it is possible that some countries are socially and politically ripe for democracy, while others are not, what interested me was the man's categorical thinking, as it reminded me of the categorical thinking of Russians. "Taking steam baths is good for your health," they claim. "It aids your digestion." Running, on the other hand, is bad for you, as it wears out your joints. The French seem completely at peace with the fact that nothing in their country works -- "there is another strike," they say; "such is life" -- just like the Russians, who are faced daily with a plethora of sociopolitical contradictions and have no other option but to accept them or leave. I continued to be struck by the backwardness of this country, as, just as I thought of Poland as a more easterly version of Germany before I visited it, I thought of France as a version of Germany in which people ate baguettes and talked as though they had their fingers up their noses. It turns out that exposure to new cultures teaches us more about them than speculation.
I am off to Avignon tomorrow; I have already accepted that I will not have time for Carcassonne. I have remained tired, having dozed off for a couple of hours before dinner, and have stopped cursing myself for having tried to fit too much into this trip, as it was a natural mistake to make, given that I learn only by mistakes and had not made this one before. Last year, I had spare days in places like Frankfurt and Prague, days in which, I felt, I could have fit in more sightseeing if I had only planned more prudently. I did not realize, at the time, that downtime was necessary, as I had never had a trip without it, and trying to see too much all at once was a natural reaction to not having seen enough, in a manner of speaking, all at once. Again, I have learned my lesson, and I will know what to do on future trips. On the plus side, having way too much to see and way too many places to visit makes time fly, which is a plus when one is thousands of miles from home and alone. I hope to be able to get more work done, somehow, over the next few days. I am going to be spending my days amidst Roman ruins, which could be the highlight of this trip.
My final notes include that Bordeaux had a morning market, which I passed on the way to the train station; I have no idea why markets seem to be more common in Europe than in North America, but I can say with certainty that North Americans are fascinated by them. The French have a pathological aversion to making eye contact or to sitting next to one another on public transport: they will continue to stand, even if there are places free, and they will often take up one and a half spots, like jerk-off drivers, preventing less contact-averse people from siting down. Interestingly, the French are much more likely than most North Americans to touch one on the arm or shoulder in casual conversation; I guess that they just do not like to have their thighs or shoulders rub together, to which neither Russians nor I have the slightest aversion. Based on my limited experience, Germans are polite enough to make room for one on the bus even if they do not want to have anyone sit next to them; I never thought to look for this quality amongst people of any other country.
My only other note appears to be that the Loire has a surprisingly-low population given the fertility of its land. Rather, that is one of two notes, the second being that the cathedral in Nantes had tessellated stained glass, which I had not so far seen. My gauge for stained glass' quality is usually its colors' vividness, in which case churches and cathedrals in Angers, Bordeaux, and Toulouse have had the best stained glass that I have seen. To leave you with a final thought, I met an Italian from Messina today and saw him cooking ravioli and tomato sauce (this is not supposed to be some sort of racial joke; this is leading up to something), and I am going to finish off my groceries from Bordeaux tomorrow morning, having eaten nothing but them and a small, custard-filled roll (I did not walk past every single bakery.) since Thursday afternoon. The point of my anecdote about the Italian is that I am going to start cooking a little more on this trip, as long as I have the opportunity, as it is often more rewarding than eating out, especially given the amount of money (a lot) that one saves. I am still hunting after pork cheeks and either fowl or duck, and I still want to try the gelato in Annecy and a fancy pastry at some point, but I feel, at this point, that I have more or less tried the local specialties. The best food that I have had in France was in Chamonix, with Angers and Strasbourg coming in second and third, respectively; the best ice cream that I have had, and the only ice cream that I have had on this trip, was in Rouen; and I have no idea where I have eaten the best pastry, but that was probably also in Chamonix.
I have one more realization for you, which is that, while this hostel is pretty good and cost a third as much as most of the hotels in which I have been staying, I was not looking forward to getting here until I found it; I realized that I am getting less and less into staying in hostels. While economizing on trips is important, and I will have to find newer and better ways of doing so (such as not booking non-refundable hotel rooms for the wrong night and not visiting exorbitantly-expensive areas) in future, one also wants to enjoy oneself, and it is worth paying money to do that. I will be curious to see what kinds of strategies and stances on spending I adopt over the next few years; it is very hard to tell in advance what they will be.
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| Look at all of this argillaceous brick! |
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