I passed some good vacations and well-amused myself, thanks.

Hello all!  A thousand apologies for the delay in updating.  I've been romping around the country and just got back from Paris.  Yes, I feel sorry for myself too.

I've been on vacation for the past two weeks for what is known as Toussaint.  If you don't know what that is, that means you haven't religiously been reading my blog.  Go pick up the dunce cap and sit in that corner.  Yes, that one there.  No, face the wall.  I'll tell you when you can go back to your seat.  So as I was saying, I've been on vacation.  While other teachers at my schools went to Tunisia and Tuscany to soak up the sun for two weeks, I was confined to France because I'm not legally allowed to leave the country until the immigration process is officially complete.  You can pick out all of the people who also stayed in France for vacation because we have a matching sun-deprived pallor.  Except for those jerks who went to Nice and Marseille.  We don't talk to them.

I spent my first week in Nancy with Claire and from there we took two day trips-- one to Metz and one to Strasbourg.  Metz is a beautiful, charming city north of Nancy (you may remember my previous trip there to go to Ikea) and we spent the day walking around with two other assistants.  One of the great things about European cities is the ability to walk everywhere.  Urban sprawl hasn't really caught-on here, thankfully, so most cities are condensed into a center of town with residences surrounding it.  Because of this, we were able to walk the length of the centre ville several times, taking lots of pictures and stopping to watch the swans.  

Highlights of Metz: seeing the oldest church in France, built circa 380 AD; seeing the Metz cathedral, which was stunning in and of itself, but was worth it because of this English description of the Rose window (I've included all the spelling errors and bizarre placements of commas):

"When in the choir, let us turn around and, irresistibly, our eyes will look above the front porch, magnetized by the large window, Hermann of Munster's work (+1392).  Unhappily, the lower level was, suppressed in 1795, thus depriving us partly of the procession of the prophets and the apostles.  But what a marvellous catechise, what a sumptuous stone-kneaded preaching.  When going near, gazing at this rose-window the symbol of the universe surrounded with quatrefoils and trefoils, peopled with angels, the sign of the 'New Heaven' promised to believers, we are plunged into a marvellous dream.  Irradiated by the setting sun that seems to put life in it and recreate the motion of a world turned towards its creator, while, right up, the Christ on the Cross with his mother and John the beloved disciple near by, says again: 'It is accomplished' (Jn 19, 30)."

Watch out, that front porch is magnetized.

Our other day trip was our joyous return to Strasbourg!  I had butterflies in my stomach on the train ride there, almost expecting the city to have changed beyond recognition or to just not be there at all.  When Claire spotted the cathedral looming like a gray monolith over the city as our train approached, my heart pounded and my palms grew sweaty.  However, once we walked out of the train station, I felt completely normal.  I waited for some sort of emotional, cathartic outburst that would send me falling to my knees on the sweet Strasbourgeois pavement, weeping uncontrollable tears of joy as I kissed the ground I had missed so much these past two years.  But nothing came.  Instead, Claire and I set off towards centre ville, our inner compasses already reorientated and pointing the way as if we had never left the city.  The closest I got to any emotional state was when we walked out into the open space of Place Kléber, a sight so familiar to both of us, and saw the cathedral spire reaching effortlessly to the clouds.  I took a picture I have taken so many times before.

We wandered around to our favorite places-- Gallia, where we took pictures of the river; Café Brant for the obligatory espresso and internet binge; Orangerie, the beautiful park close to where both of us had lived two years ago; and finally Flam's, a tarte flambée restaurant where we ate ourselves sick.  It was the perfect day.  We took one last stroll through Petite France, the old section of the city, before catching our train back to Nancy.  I was sad we couldn't spend more time there, but it was so good just to be there for a few hours.  It felt like a homecoming. 

The next day, Claire came back with me to Bar le Duc and after approximately one hour she had seen the whole city.  I was surprised to find myself happy to be home and especially happy that Claire was able to see my humble little town.  We ate a ton of food and watched Paris, Je T'Aime to psych ourselves up for our 6:14am train to Paris the next morning.  Unfortunately, 6:14am is still 6:14am no matter how excited you might be to get to your destination and suddenly my dorm mattress felt like the warmest, most comfortable place on earth when I awoke the next day.  Somehow, and I have little recollection as to how, I managed to install myself on the train with a cup of coffee and my travel mates, which now included two other assistants from Bar le Duc, Amelia and Julia.

Paris.  Paris.  How can I describe thee?  I had been so many times before and I was beginning to think that the magic of the city had worn off for me.  After all, I'd seen the Eiffel Tower, Sacré Coeur, the Louvre, the Seine and Notre Dame numerous times.  They were still beautiful and enigmatic, but they didn't evoke the same emotions that they once used to.  Paris was becoming (dare I say it?) blasé.  However, this time around I managed to see so many new places:

The Catacombs (an underground ossuary):

The Luxembourg Gardens:

Versailles:

 And Sacré Coeur at night:

In addition, I was joined by a high school friend, Aaron, and we went on a free three hour walking tour of Paris and did a tour of Montmartre (the bohemian district that Sacré Coeur is located in.  Think Amélie) later that evening, seeing all of the hang-outs and studios of Picasso, Van Gogh and the other Montmartre artists. 

So in the end, I found myself feeling a renewed enchantment with the city of lights, the city of love.  Part of me wished I was staying, but I was still happy when I got back home to Bar le Duc.  I can't quite wrap my mind around it, but I guess I was feeling a little homesick for my tiny French town. 

In other news, my French and English seem to be rapidly deteriorating at the same pace.  The new thing my brain seems to be doing is substituting similar French words for their literal English counterparts, so I end up with awkward phrases like the "I passed some good vacations and well-amused myself, thanks."  J'ai passé des bonnes vacances et je me suis bien amusée, merci.  I suppose it's a good sign, and I remember this phase during study abroad.  Unfortunately, the next thing to happen will be the loss of command of any languages at all.  In which case, look forward to deciphering those hilarious blog posts to come.

Okay, you in the corner, you can take off the dunce cap and go back to your seat.  And don't let this happen again.