La Buche

It's comforting to know that some things in life are constant. Every Christmas Eve, I know for certain that I will be spending a couple hours of my day with my dad crafting a holiday tradition: La Buche de Noel. It's a cake that looks like a log. You make a tray sized, super thin sponge cake, coat it with custard, roll it up and coat that with chocolate frosting. I was really happy with the way this year's turned out! Here's a couple of pictures. :)

Fall Quarter 2012

I'm sorry for the unacceptably long blog-silence. After I left France, there just wasn't as much that seemed worth writing about. I was too busy moping about the end of such a glorious summer. Honestly, I eventually forgot that PicoElise even existed. And the fall quarter I somehow just miraculously survived through was stubborn enough to keep it that way. What's more, I maybe took two pictures in the past four months. How pathetic. Often I would think to myself, "Oh, that would make such a nice picture" and feel lucky that I was surrounded by such a pretty photogenic place populated with pretty photogenic people.  But that somehow never translated into action.

ANYWAYS I'm going to Oxford next quarter! Yay! More about that to come, I promise. This blog will be converted into a travel blog for the next few months, dedicated to my adventures abroad. I really hope I get to take a ton of pictures and have time to type to you all (the hundreds of dedicated fans) some funny stories of an awkward American floundering in European winter. Stay tuned!

Here's a picture not really related to anything; just one of my favorites that I've taken. Blog posts don't feel complete without a picture! :)

Le Roi De L'Oiseau

The Roi de l'Oiseau is Puy-en-Velay's biggest event. It has occurred every year for the past thirty or so, and lasts for five days. It's like an extremely special kind of Halloween, without the candy. The whole town launches itself into a recreation of Renaissance times. Costumes, markets, and activities all reflect the enthusiasm with which almost everyone participates.

For many, The Roi de L’Oiseau seems to be also an official, city-sponsored “merde” show. The sheer quantity of broken glass on cobblestoned streets and once white (but now party-fouled) medieval smocks is astounding. Wandering through the streets, it feels like dozens of strangers offer this wide-eyed and innocent foreigner hypocras, the official drink of the event. It’s a pungent blend of wine, pears, cloves, and mystery spices that’s fabricated by the tons and then dispersed through town in glass bottles tied around young peoples’ necks with string. There is a medieval ball, which is essentially a frat party in ambiance except for the kids, old people, medieval bands, and medieval dancing that’s dictated to the crowd by a savvy, highly specialized DJ. Everyone is in costume, whether elaborate or thrown together, and if you’re not, you must feel terribly out of place.The party rages on until the wee hours of the night, until drunkards who fell asleep in the middle of the streets are awakened by their equally drunk comrades to walk home. There are camps where the hardcore participants sleep in giant, authentic tents. At night, our affiliated camp, “les guardiens du feu,” hosts a dinner where eighty people sit around a circle of narrow tables drinking, screaming words to their favorite drinking chants, and taking a break from drinking to eat soup cooked in huge cauldrons over a fire. The meal is lit with candles stuck into the tops of old hypocras bottles.

Hopefully the following pictures will give you a taste for what my experience was like. 

In costume. Although there are no pictures to prove it, I was dressed to blend in. 

The archery competition, for the prestigious title of the Roi de L'Oiseau.

Spontaneous musical performance in front of a fountain.

This keg be surrious.

An attentive young peasant listens to a theater performance, none of which I understand.

Lumiere de "ouf" at sunset. 

The set up of dinner at the campement

An idea of the dinner's ambiance. Candles. Beer. Candles. Hypocras.

Some Mopey Awkz Lyf

I’ve forgotten how it feels to be the token foreign student. En plus, when the environment is an overdose of the incredibly foreign. I’m unbelievably awkward around strangers unless I have a posy to back me up. The language barrier exacerbates this phenomenon, and neither of my friends can do much to help as they are mostly busy crafting shenanigans with their respective gangs of actual friends. *cue sad puppy face.* As a result, my voice becomes hoarse from long stretches of silence, and I tail people like an obnoxious shadow but try not to be in the way. It’s not a very fun scene. At least I have my camera and can distance myself from the situation by feeling like I have a job to do: one of cool, third party observation and documentation. This might come off to the others as blase grumpiness, but alas. Hopefully not.  

Perfectly wedged under that annoying little metal bar. 

One morning, I was washing my contact lens case when one of the caps fell into the sink. It was just the perfect size to get stuck. *Doh.* Why do these sorts of things happen to me. I didn't want to say anything about it so I tried to engineer a solution without raising alarm. Ended up fishing it out with a custom shaped clothes hanger after great effort. Maybe I should become a surgeon?

This incident is pretty symbolic of how I felt most of the weekend: Incognito-ly sheepish. 

Witchcraft

What is this witchcraft?! 

Reason #136 to live in France.

Clermont-Ferrand

Yesterday, Dominique and I visited Clermont-Ferrand. I've decided that I'm going to live there when I'm older. Nothing can beat ancient buildings lining pedestrian streets.

Marrakech, Morocco: Day 9 and 10

Day 9:

The last full day consists almost solely of unphotogenic, semi-frantic work. We wrap up every plate, cup, etc, etc from Day 6 in bubble wrap, which takes hours. We fill up cardboard boxes with forgotten knick knacks. 

For dinner, we are to return to Thierry's and Sebastien's to eat a pizza, and we had agreed to pick up Thierry near his riad. Waiting in the car, I decide to take advantage of the passenger-side mirror to catch sniper photos of people on the street. This is the only one that really turns out. While the shallow depth of field wasn't intentional, I like the effect.

Here's a view from the top of Thierry's and Sebastien's apartment, around sunset:

Day 10:

A 6am walk up time is strangely painless after having been so rested for the duration of the trip. Our flight leaves at 9h30, and after yet again lots of Radiohead, we arrive at Lyon. Three trains and a one hour car ride later, we are back at L'Artaudie. The difference between bustling Marrakech and tranquil L'Artaudie couldn't be more extreme, and I feel much more disoriented than I probably should.

I already realize that my time in Morocco was priceless. Still, I'm glad to be back.

Thanks so much for following me along and reading!

I caught my reflection in the ceiling of the train

Marrakech, Morocco: Day 8

Today's main tourist attractions are the recently discovered but ancient Saadian tombs and more souk, this time in the Jewish quarter. I'll let the photos and captions do the talking (cop outs are nice sometimes). 

Each rectangle in tile represents one body. The larger the stone ornament on top is, the higher the rank of the buried.  Notice the intricacy in the doorways! So amazing.

A baby cat sleeping on a tomb. That's somehow deep.

There are tombs both in the outside courtyard and in rooms that spin off from it.

Marrakech, Morocco: Day 7

Today is the day completely dedicated to tourism. Dominique has planned a full day trip through the Atlas, the mountain range hugging Marrakech. Our first stop is to pick up Sebastien, and we drink coffee and hang out with his five cats as we wait for Thierry to be finished with his work at the riad. We then go to pick up Thierry and head off down the road and towards the mountains. 

This one likes to brag about how photogenic he is

The landscape was at times similar to that in a Western film and at others closer to what Mars must be like. Even though the elevation spike granted to us by the precariously windy roads is impressive, the heat is unrelenting. The coldest it gets is 33 degrees C. We pass small villages scattered along the hillside. Their buildings offer slivers of shade to livestock taking refuge from the sun. These are my two most favorite shots.

For lunch we stop at a hotel/restaurant. The ambiance is set by a few teenage Americans playing Marco-Polo loudly and badly in the pool right next to the tables. The food is expensive and mediocre, and Thierry complains a lot. We spend some time talking about what is known in France as "Spring Break" (insert French accent). Sebastien explains that this is a famous American ritual in which college students get wasted in Mexico.

We make it back to Marrakech in the late afternoon. On the way to Thierry's riad, I catch sunlight spilling into the alleyway in a beautiful way. 

Marrakech, Morocco: Day 6

Today begins lazily, on account of last night. My uncle's elementary school friend, Bertrand, and his wife drive down from Casablanca to eat lunch with us. Mariam's couscous is one of the best things I've ever tasted. Bertrand's wife is the most empty-headed person I've ever met, so the lunch is amusing as I try to stifle rude giggles. She asks me where the black people live in the US and talks about how she's read that everyone there is fat.

Once they leave, we take inventory of all the plates, cups, saucers, teapots, etc, etc of my uncle's hotel. My uncle claims that it's fine he wasn't able to sell it; he now has a present all ready to go for the marriages of my brother and me. I'm fine with that too.

This is not all of it

Then, off to the tourist activity of the day: le Jardin Majorelle. This is a huge garden and estate established by the French painter Louis Majorelle and then owned by fashion designer Yves Saint-Laurent. The museum about the Berbers, the indigenous people of regions of Northern Africa, has excellent English translations and lots of cool jewelry and traditional clothing, but no pictures in the museum. Here are choice ones from the garden itself:

Marrakech, Morocco: Day 5

In the morning, we go to two museums: la Palais Bahia and another one whose name my uncle can't ever remember. He tells me to look it up on the internet, but I really don't have anything to go off of so apologies; it will remain a mystery. In any case, the two museums resembled each other in that they were both full of unbelievably intricate, stunning architecture and lots of sun burnt tourists.

In the afternoon, after packing a metal crate full of random fragile things, we go back to the market to re-buy supplies. No one gives me presents this time, but what's even neater is that I now feel like a familiar face. I'm also a little more brave about taking pictures.

Spices, in bulk

If you say that you want a kilo of tomatoes, they use this scale with pre-set weights to give you the right amount. Super hi-tek; this means these vendors could give you the right amount of fruits or vegetables even if you were on the moon!

For dinner, we've been invited to Thierry's house, where he lives with his "friend" Sebastien. It's going to be a French style dinner, which means we're expected to arrive around 20h30. I spend the late afternoon roaming around the house feeling unbelievably hungry. I've finished my book and stupidly only brought one, so the only thing to distract me is Fruit Ninja and taking pictures of my sunglasses. Finally, 20h rolls around and we get ready to leave. I of course forget my camera, and turns out there's a beautiful sunset waiting for us on Thierry and Sebastien's balcony.

Hipsterified product of my sunglasses photo-shoot. I made the collage by arranging my four photos together on the desktop and then screenshotting them all together ;)

Dinner is delicious but I find the conversation and company a little bit perturbing. First of all, I automatically feel super shy when around French people I don't know. My accent becomes more pronounced, my frequent grammatical mistakes become more frequent, and I suddenly feel very American. It doesn't help that Thierry launches into a rather serious rant about his impressions of the USA, none of which are very positive. The word "extravagant" must be mentioned at least three or four times. I don't have much to say besides the fact that the US is a big country, a lot of which I know very little about, but in my personal experience a lot of the stereotypes he cites aren't very accurate. I think the language barrier prevents me from delivering a solid defense. Sebastien, who I haven't met before, is less controversial and pleasant to hang around with. Both smoke five or six cigarettes during the course of the evening. 

We arrive back to the house much later than our normal bed time. While in the bathroom getting ready for bed, I close one of the windows and feel a sudden thud of extra weight on the back of my pajama top. I swivel my neck around in surprise, and there's a giant cockroach just sort of hanging out there. Needless to say, a frantic, hectic wiggle ensues to get it off. I catch myself wiggling in the mirror and have to start laughing, because I look absolutely ridiculous flailing my arms around in impulsive desperation. At all the frats next school year I'm launching a new dance craze, I've decided, called the "cockroach wiggle." So that is how I learn that I'm very scared of cockroaches. I'm not really scared of spiders or snakes or other normal things like that. But this: *shudder*

Marrakech, Morocco: Day 4

By day four, I sense that my life in Morocco is settling down into routine. Every day begins to blend into the next. 9h for breakfast. 12h30 for lunch. Swim and read until 15h30. 19h30 for dinner. 22h sleep. Half the day is dedicated to packing, and the other half to tourism.

Today, it's tourism in the morning. We do a far amount of walking in the old walled city, la Medina, before arriving at a riad, owned by one of my uncle's friends, under construction in the traditional manner. Right before arriving at the door, a group of kids cluster around us, gawking, and ask "Comment tu t'appelles?" When I answer, they all repeat my name and start to giggle. This also happened on the way back, only 10 minutes later. Inside the riad, the detail is astounding. Each tile decorating the pillars is chipped into form by hand. When we visit, however, most of the workers are napping on mattresses.

After a little bit more meandering, we then happen seemingly coincidentally on Ben Youssef Madrasa, an ancient Koranic school. My uncle jokes that this was the Stanford of the 14th century. It's mind- boggling how much history this place has seen, and despite all the tourists there's a sacred ambiance to it. The "dorm rooms" are cubicle sized, but their windows look out from the second floor onto the beautiful first. There, the terrace is massive, with a fountain in the middle and tiled floors and walls.

The Musee de Marrakech is next, but by this time it's too hot for me to appreciate the modern art that mixes with the Moroccan artifacts like swords and teapots. My uncle sits in a chair and waits for me to look through the exhibits. Finally, we also go back to souks and look around some more. I feel more comfortable than yesterday already.

In the afternoon, after lunch, I notice that trying to tan and also being irrationally paranoid about skin cancer is not an awesome combination. I'm too reasonable to make any improvement on my translucence.

Before dinner we go to a huge mall, complete with a Pizza Hut and a Dominos right across from each other, to buy the groceries that Mariam had requested. I buy a Twice bar AND a Mars bar. We forgot to buy bread, and I feel very proud of myself as I run back to go retrieve some.

Instead of struggling to intersperse the relevant photos in my day's summary, I'll just post them below. The first is the new riad, the next three are la Madrasa, the next two are parts of la Medina, and the last is my favorite photo I took in Morocco :)

Marrakech, Morocco: Day 3

Today we begin work. My uncle is moving from his house in Morocco, so the (official) reason I'm here is to help him pack all the remaining stuff up in boxes. We sort through my grandma's things first and find, among other surprising things, a butterfly knife the size of my thumb. I also find a Moroccan peasant hat I take a liking to, and I wear it for the entirety of the trip. To the left and the right, I exemplify the only two expressions I ever have in photographs. 

After lunch and the nap/swimming/reading period, we go to the ultra modern train station, which is basically like a mall, to eat "une p'tite glace." The KFC (which we would go to for lunch on Day 8 , partly as a joke) and the MacDonald's are packed with happy looking people. I receive my first batch of dirhams from the ATM and feel rich. 10 dirhams is about 1 dollar, but when you're holding 200 dirham bills, you feel awesome because of the zeros. 

Later on, we drive (I'm getting used to the roads by now) to the artisan ensemble and look at beautiful Moroccan knick knacks without buying anything. It's quiet and empty. We then go directly to the souks, the traditional markets that meander through a long labyrinth of alleyways. These are anything but quiet and empty: the souks are bustling and full of strong smells and colors. Vendors call to me insistently. Hello! Hello! HELLO! If I smile at them, they think I want to buy something. They smell the weakness and follow me a ways through the souk talking about how great their product is. At first this intimidates me, but I learn how to look straight ahead and say no forcibly enough to seem like I mean to. We would go to the souks three more times, and I would buy lots of things but let  Dominique do the hard core, a la Marocaine price bargaining. The souks end up being my favorite part of Marrakech. I think they're really most symbolic of the vibrancy of the Marocain culture. Some souks are  more touristy than others, but in any case there's a healthy mix of Europeans, savvy locals, and the whizzing passing scooter that go by. Unfortunately, I find taking pictures in the souks to be frustrating due to the lighting situations and the fact that I'm worried people will notice I've taken a picture of them. Oftentimes if you try to take a picture of someone, they'll ask you for money and I don't want to get into any sticky situations so I try to be sneaky. Still, I end up taking pictures almost exclusively of buildings, inanimate objects, and cats because none of these things mind. I don't think I have the right personality to be a good photographer. 


 In one souk, on a different day, a 20-something Moroccan walks by and starts talking to my uncle. I'm immediately hesitant about what he has to say, thinking he's a persistant vendor. But turns out he's just walking in our direction, and tells my uncle "She is very pretty. How much are you selling her? I'll offer a million camels." My uncle laughed and said I wasn't for sale. Although this was kind of strange it, was also strangely flattering. 

Unrelated, but another angle of my rose. Low-grade obsessed.