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