an english holiday

I had a wonderful holiday in England, but with a bit of a rough start. On the eve of my departure, I slept en ville at James’s apartment because his place is close to the train station and I was scheduled to leave Bordeaux at 06h27. We made a family-style dinner of pâtes bolognaise with Valeria, Esther and Mathilde and afterwards James and I met our friend Benjamin in the English bar across the street, the Frog et Rosbif before finishing the night off back at the apartment with Christmas carols and sleepy banter.

The following morning, James walked me to the tram, which I took to the gare, and my train left on time without incident. I arrived in Biarritz, from where I was to fly to London Luton via Ryanair. (The train ride to Biarritz often pays for itself in Ryanair savings—my flight only cost me 13,50 euros.) I took a cab from the Biarritz train station to the airport—another 7 euros. After checking in and settling into an uncomfortable seat next to the gate, minutes before takeoff we were told that our flight had been cancelled due to fog. The passengers for my flight were to be bussed to Pau, where our flight had been redirected. Unbelievable! I had just taken the train through Pau on my way to Biarritz, and the trip is considerably longer by bus. It took us about two hours, in addition to a forty minute wait for the bus, before we made it to the Pau airport. Of course it wasn’t foggy in Pau, and by that time it probably was also sunny in Biarritz.

I called Joëlle, my hostess, to warm her of my tardiness and took a place in line to board. I regretted stowing my coat and scarf in my luggage as I watched the other passengers step out onto the tarmac and board the plane by a rolling staircase. (I’ve secretly always wanted to do this.) When it was my turn to go outside, I was equally pleased and disappointed to find the air temperate, warm even! Where was the winter I knew? Next to the airport, palm trees were growing. Palm trees! At Christmas! Between my redirected flight and the lack of proper Christmas weather (i.e., snow), I was having trouble getting in the spirit.

We arrived in London about two hours late and I had no chance of making my originally scheduled train from Paddington Station to Chippenham. I wasn’t even sure how to get from Luton, a northern suburb of London, to Paddington. Fortunately I met Chris, a 24-year-old from Bristol, who was headed my way and also wasn’t sure of the route. Together we were able to decode the complicated London Underground, changing at Luton Parkway Station and King’s Cross.

At Paddington I tried to convince a customer service agent that it was not my fault I had missed my first train, but even though she was sympathetic, she couldn’t give me a new ticket for free. Instead I had to buy a new ticket for £57,50, and the kind customer service woman told me that I should be able to get a refund on one of the tickets later on.

Jacque, a Californian from DEFLE, and Joëlle met me at the station at Chippenham and we drove to Hullavington House, Joëlle’s home. I met her parents, Bob and Magali (who is française) and her sister Ellie. The girls played cards—a Danish game whose name escapes me but which resembles a sort of “group” solitaire, oxymoronic though it may be. Then we ate dinner, chili con carne, before calling it a night.

On Christmas Eve, Joëlle, Jacque and I drove into Castle Combe, a nearby town used frequently for filming because of its old world charm. “Throw some dirt on the ground, and it looks pretty much as it did 400 years ago,” Joëlle told us, and she was right. The town had a familiar air to it—that of a fairy tale. The originally Dr. Dolittle may be among the most famous films shot there, but Stardust is probably the most recent.

Next we drove to Lacock [LAE-cock], also home to a famous film ser—Harry Potter! The cloisters there are the setting for many scenes passed between classes at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, because of the holiday, the cloisters were closed and we (and by “we” I mean “I”) looked longingly through the locked gates and a pasture of grazing sheep at a large stone building, behind which one finds the cloisters. Bad luck.

Next was a reenactment of the nativity scene in the village of Hullavington, where the Virgin Mary rode through the streets on a donkey and finished at the conveniently named Star Inn, the local pub. After the play we shared hot mulled wine and steaming mince pies.

We ate dinner at home but not before Bob treated us to an aperitif: a pint at his favorite pub. English pubs are not like bars. Cozy and not unlike a large living room, they exude a homey sort of warmth and serve as a gathering place for people of all ages. A Christmas tree stood in one corner, adorned with ornaments made by the local children.

After dinner, we changed our clothes and drove into Chippenham. Jacque and I were both surprised to learn that in England, Christmas Eve is not the quiet family affair as we have come to know it but instead a night on the town, catching up with old friends. We met several of Joëlle’s former classmates and shared a couple of drinks before returning home and going to sleep.

On Christmas morning we rose at nine to make American pancakes.

Time out! No, we did not open our presents first thing. Elle and Joëlle’s stockings were waiting outside their bedroom doors and they opened those tiny gifts, but we had a leisurely breakfast in our pajamas and didn’t even start getting dressed until at least 10h30.

Clean and fed (and only slightly impatient—I was reminded of David Sedaris’s criticism that some European cultures care more about food and family than “things of real value”), we sat before a lit fire in the living room and took turns opening packages. I had black gloves from Jacque, a daily calendar with photos of Britain and an amusing novel about fitting into French culture from the Greens, and a necklace and eye shadow powder form Joëlle and Ellie. The Green family’s guests that day, Alan and Michelle, even brought me a box of pink champagne truffles for my birthday. (When I said that I was unfamiliar with the mark, Hotel Chocolat, Joëlle told me that it’s very expensive.)

We passed the afternoon playing Pub Quiz, a sort of simple DVD version of Trivial Pursuit, men verses women. Magali was busy in the kitchen and so we were four young women against two well-seasoned, male pub-goers, but we won anyway by a rather impressive margin. Alan and Michelle left and we sat down to Christmas lunch in the dining room.

Lunch started with crackers. Not the kind that you eat—the kind that you pull apart with the help of your neighbor to reveal jokes, a tiny gift, and a tissue paper crown, just like Bridget Jones’s! We donned our crowns, marveled at the tiny surprises (mine was a set of magic poker cards) and told our jokes.

The meal was astounding. Our plates were heaped so high with food that Magali repeated again and again that we weren’t obligated to finish it all, but we did anyway. There were steamed peas and carrots, roast chicken, crispy roasted potatoes and parsnips, pigs in blankets (sausages wrapped in bacon) and Yorkshire pudding (bowl-shaped pastries filled with a brothy sauce). The wine flowed abundantly and we were all rather flushed by the end of the meal. Joëlle, Jacqueline and I took the two dogs, Paddy and Bessie, for a walk through the town, still wearing our paper crowns and laughing animatedly in the street. (There is only one street in Hullavington. It is aptly called “The Street.”)

When we came home, rosy-cheeked, there was figgy pudding in white, creamy and potent brandy sauce, and by the time we had finished we were glued to the couch by the weight of our stomachs for the rest of the night, watching reruns of Blackadder with Rowan Atkinson and a Christmas special of the British sitcom The Royle Family. There was a brand new episode of Wallace and Gromit on, “A Matter of Loaf and Death,” and soon afterward we all made our way upstairs to our respective beds and promptly passed out.

I woke up the next morning, my 21st birthday, to breakfast with the girls. Joëlle denied me any presents until dinnertime. We went into Chippenham where Joëlle showed us a couple of her preferred shops and we profited from Boxing Day sales. In the afternoon we napped and then Joëlle helped Magalie with dinner while Bob drove Jacque and I into Marlesbury, one of the oldest towns in England whose roads date to the Romans in the first century A.D. It was bitter cold and we were glad to return hope to an appetizer of cake, topped by sixteen lit candles. Everyone sang, I made a wish, and then three of Joëlle’s friends, Flossie, Joey and her boyfriend, Brad, came over for an Indian feast. There were four dishes, including a spicy chicken korma and a daal, and samosas and pupadam aplenty. I had my first legal sip of alcohol—a bit of bubbly—and we finished the night with another game of Pub Quiz.

Joëlle and Ellie gave me a really cute, hardbound journal and a black satin clutch, and Jacque gave me a beautiful gold necklace. Mama sent a small gift from the States: dainty little gold, dangly earrings with “the color” beads and another really cute journal.

Jacqueline was already gone when I woke up on the 27th. Joëlle and I passed a quiet morning at home until the early afternoon, when she left to pick up her boyfriend, Dave, from the train station. With Dave we took the dogs for a walk in the countryside, donning Wellingtons à l’anglaise. In the evening, the whole family plus Dave and me walked to a neighbor’s home for a potluck and games. Jamie Cullum grew up in the house, which is a converted barn and really charming. We ate chili and potatoes and vegetable curry and played the same card game from the first night, along with the UK edition of Cranium (I had a definite disadvantage in the trivia department) and Sing Star, a PlayStation 3 karaoke competition game. It was so much fun. Dave beat Ellie at the Kaiser Chief’s “Ruby,” and Joëlle and I were closely tied in Abba’s “S.O.S.”

We left after midnight and I said goodbye to everyone before packing my things and going to sleep. I had to wake up early the next morning to catch a bus to London, and my trip to Bordeaux was timely and without incident.

Observations: England is everything I’ve built it up to be. I lot of Wiltshire towns probably have real Hogwarts students living in them, I told myself while cursing my Mugglehood repeatedly.

No, but seriously, the English countryside is charming even in its gray dampness. There is something inherently festive about the stone cottages and gray-green fields. Everyone I met, including bus drivers and Londoners, was welcoming and only too excited to learn that it was my first time in England and wished me a wonderful stay,

let's talk about...

... how I just finished my first semester in France.

It's official. Exams are over and I'm on vacation! Too bad I still have TONS to do before I leave for England on Tuesday.

bon appétit, all the fries you can eat

Tonight I had dinner at L'Entrecôte, the most famous restaurant in Bordeaux, with Joëlle, Jacqueline Rose, Valeria, Esther, and Mathilde (a new friend).

We waited in line outside even though we showed up promptly at 19h15, when it opens. We made it into the first seating but were still waiting on Mathilde. As we were directed to the fourth, fifth, five-hundredth floor (I think the restaurant actually has five levels, one of which is subterranean), a hostess asked us how many of us there were.

"Six," we told her, "But we're waiting for a friend."

The hostess then asked us quite seriously how soon we expected her. We explained that she was already late and would probably be arriving momentarily. She squinted her eyes suspiciously and told us that we could go ahead and be seated on the top floor, but that if Mathilde didn't arrive in a few, or maybe five minutes, we would have to come down and stand in line all over again. I've seen table-turning techniques in the States, oh yes, but I've never seen the equivalent!

There's only one menu at 17 euros per person, so you don't even have to bother ordering.

Green salad with vinaigrette and walnuts: Nothing special, but it whets the appetite.
French fries: À volonté (means free refills) and quite delicious.
Steak: Perfectly rosy, sliced thin, with a delicious herb sauce that makes up for the lack of ketchup or mayonnaise for the fries. (We were, however, offered mustard.)



Desserts costs extra but was well worth it for their size and chocolate content. I had profiteroles, but all of our desserts were pretty much indistinguishable due to the liberal application of whipped cream.

We also shared a bottle of the house wine.



Afterward, the other Americans headed home to sleep and study for tomorrow afternoon's grammar exam. Joëlle and Mathilde and I walked to the Houses of Parliament, my favorite bar, to have a beer before splitting ways for the night.

staying alive, staying alive

I'm sorry for not having updated in a really long time. I've not been in much of a mood to tell stories.

This weekend was really eventful. Friday night I went into town with some girls from California and ended up staying so late that I slept at Mariah's apartment because her roommate was out of town. Saturday there was a Christmas party at Monika and Arabella's apartment and I stayed and danced until 4:00 a.m., when I left with Joëlle and Valeria to sleep at James's apartment.* Then, this afternoon James had a Christmas party and he and Joëlle had made mulled wine (warm wine with spices, vin chaud in French). I've only just got home and I don't feel rested at all. I have one exam tomorrow for my writing style class and then I'm finished for the day with only laundry and hanging out with Stephanie on my to-do list.

*James is from Huntington Beach, the only city in California that I have actually visited. He somehow scored the most incredible apartment with an amazing location near the river. His wealthy Asian boyfriend helps him out a lot financially, so he has a real kitchen and a bathtub. He had space to sleep five people, and because the apartment is conveniently placed near the tram, it's a popular place to crash for the night. In addition to his amazing apartment, he's absolutely delightfully, wickedly fun. Fortunately for all of us, James is staying for the whole year.

over the river and through the woods, to raymond and amandine's we go

Many of you have been asking about our Thanksgiving dinner. Sorry it's taken me so long. I've fallen a bit behind, so I'm just going to publish what I had started to write and let the pictures tell the rest of the story. Remember that there are always more pictures in my Picasa account than I post here. You can link to it at the left of the page.

I started cooking at about noon on Thursday. I made two pumpkin pies in my dorm room, and Colin came over to help. More specifically, to give me moral support (whose importance is not to be underestimated). I also did all of the prep work for the stuffing, leaving it only to be baked. I showered and took a tiny pause, and Ethan showed up at about 16h15. With Colin and Ethan's help I carried the pies and some ingredients to Raymond and Amandine's apartment. We split up into two groups and Colin, Raymond and Amandine went to Auchan (a large supermarket) and Ethan and I went to Monoprix (another large supermarket) to get the remaining ingredients. Ethan and I spent the gross majority of our shopping time looking for dried cranberries, which I intended to substitute for frozen or fresh ones. I asked a couple of employees for help finding canneberges, the French word for "cranberries," but no one knew what I was talking about! When I finally just asked where to find the dried fruits, I found them: labeled "Dried Cranberries," no less!

We also substituted three chickens for a turkey, which worked rather well considering we had two very tiny ovens instead of one large one.

Overall, the meal was wonderful. Nothing too fancy, but we had chicken, roasted vegetables, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie and spiced apple cider to finish. It was a hit with the non-Americans, too. We were four French, one Irish, one Japanese, one Colombian, and five Americans.

in the end it's all the same

I know you're all waiting for my post about Thanksgiving. I promise it's coming soon. In the meantime, there's something that's been on my mind lately.

First of all, I'm having a really tough time with life right now. I'm an emotional roller coaster, and the people around me are starting to get motion sick.

Some of you from back home have been asking me if I've been having fun. No offense, but it's not a very interesting question. Of course I'm having fun, but only as much fun as I would be having at my parents' house or in Chicago or even in Akron.

Because the more trouble I have coping with this homesickness, I am forced to remind myself that this is not a vacation and it's not supposed to feel like one. This is life, and it's hard and sad and funny and full of blissful moments and, well, not so blissful ones.

Life in France really isn't that different than life in the USA (except that it's called la vie here). And I suppose that's the big cultural lesson of the year.

Send me letters, make a Skype account, and stay in touch. You can even ask me if I'm having fun if you want, and I'll probably say yes because it's true - I'm having fun and getting by just like before. I just speak more French now.

your chance to give your two cents

I'm in the process of redesigning my blog using WordPress. Sorry, Google. Blogger is great and I love that it works cooperatively with my Gmail account, but WordPress is prettier. I'm also looking to buy a domain name. For example, Colin bought colinmorris[dot]net. The problem is, with a name as common as mine, I'm going to have trouble buying elizabethbrown[dot] just about anything, because they're all taken. So comment on this post with your suggestions. Keep in mind that I plan to use the same domain name even after my return from France, so the name probably should not only pertain to Bordeaux. I can create a subdomain for this France blog, so it could be, for example, bordeaux[dot]elizabethbrown[dot]com.

Please send suggestions. I'm dry for ideas.