Part 2: London

My blogging performance has been weak as of late, and I apologize for that. I need to make sure I keep the posting up, as I expect I'll be looking back on this blog in the years to come. Where did I leave off? I think it's time to tell you all a bit about my trip to London. When we left our hero, he was departing Dublin en route to London for three days of sightseeing and shenanigans.

Our London hostel was conveniently located right on the edge of Hyde Park. On our first full day there, we walked through the park and headed to Buckingham Palace to see the changing of the guard. If you haven't seen the changing of the guard, there's no rush. It typically happens at around 11:30 a.m., but if you don't get there at at least 10:45, there is no way you'll be able to see. It's unbelievable how many people come out to see the change. I felt like I was at a concert or something, except I could neither hear nor see the main act. So we left and instead made our way to the Picadilly Circus area and walked around, ducking into shops and cafés and getting a sense for the city. It was mostly nice just to wander around and immerse ourselves in the culture.

Yours truly in front of Buckingham Palace

The highlight of the London trip was the second full day, during which we bought a London City Pass and went to what seemed like every tourist attraction in the city. My feet, legs, knees, and lower back have never been in so much pain from walking. The London City Pass was 47 pounds, and granted us entry to almost all the major attractions. We were even able to skip the long lines and walk right into the building! That day alone we went to Westminster Abbey, Saint Paul's Cathedral, the Tower of London, London Bridge, Tower Bridge, Shakespeare's Globe Theater, Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, the Tate Modern Art Museum and the Churchill War Rooms. These were all truly amazing.

Something funny to add about the Tower of London. We got a tour from a classic Beefeater, who was very funny. We then walked around the castle grounds ourself, and at one point came across a throng of people in neon vests and walkie talkies. As we got closer we could see what looked like a film crew. Turns out they were filming the sequel to last year's Muppets movie -- at the Tower of London. As I looked closer I could see there, getting her dress fixed, behind a curtain: Miss Piggy! Yes, the one and only. And I saw her, in the flesh. Well I guess really in the foam. But you know what I mean. Yes, my only celebrity sighting in London was a puppet.

Saint Paul's Cathedral

Westminster Abbey was incredible -- think about the history behind that building. All the coronations, the funerals, plus the famous thinks and writers and politicians who are buried there. Really an unbelievable place. But, I liked the aesthetics of St. Paul's Cathedral more. It's domed ceiling reminded me of the U.S. Capitol building, and the frescoes on the interior are very ornate. I think my favorite site of that day was the Imperial War Museum, which houses the Churchill War Rooms. The War Rooms are the underground bunker that housed the UK military headquarters during World War Two. Churchill basically ran the British offensive from an office under London. The War Rooms are perfectly preserved as they were when the war ended, and you can walk through and see the bunker as if the soldiers had just left yesterday.

A wax Winston Churchill in his private
 phone room, calling President Roosevelt.

Churchill's wife, Clementine's, room.

I think one of the most amazing parts of both London and Dublin was the intricacy of the architecture. You can see this more in London than Dublin. The churches, castles, towers, and other historic buildings are incredibly adorned with decorative walls, corners, columns, overhangs, and whatever else I don't know the name of. Every single square inch seems to have taken hours to complete. And this isn't only on the front of the building, or around the door or something -- no, this is all around, even in the back alleys behind the buildings where the peasants undoubtedly did their business. I just kept thinking that if I was an 11th or 12th century architect, I would probably just say "Oh screw it, no one is going to look back there anyway" and just leave the back walls as blank stone. I guess that's why I'm a political science major, we're good at putting on a facade.

Me, sleeping, in front of Big Ben

On our third and fourth days in London, we basically wrapped up our visit and saw anything we hadn't seen already. We went on the London Eye (overpriced and overrated, but I suppose worth it) and met up with one of my friends from Dickinson who lives in London. He showed me a couple cool pubs and we caught up on the old times. Day four we left London, and had an easy commute back to Toulouse. It's a direct flight from Gatwick to Toulouse, thankfully.

Wrong Queen's Guardsman?

Overall my whirlwind tour through Dublin and London was really fun. I liked Dublin because of the people, and I liked London because of the history. I think if I had to go back to one, I'd choose Dublin. Maybe it's the family roots there? Who knows. Remember to check out my Flickr account, it has all of the pictures from my trip on there! There are many more where these came from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ajtoole/

London, from the London Eye

There's A Lot to Read

I know it's been a long time since I last posted -- almost two weeks ago!  But that's for a good reason: I've been doing a lot lately.  I'm going to do this in three installments because it's a lot and I want to go to bed soon. Chapter 1: Dublin.

On February 28 my friends Sarah, Amy, Lindsey and I left Toulouse and flew to London, where we immediately connected on a flight to Dublin.  We got into Dublin fairly late, and thus checked into our hostel and called it a night.  Hostels are not at all what I expected them to be.  My only expectation of a hostel comes from the absolutely horrible horror movie "Hostel" (and its many sequels) and so my hopes were not high.  But it proved to be really nice -- clean, comfortable beds; breakfast provided; a lounge with a TV; free wi-fi; washers and dryers.  All for only 20 or so euros a night per person.  Not as cushy as a hotel, but for your money you really can't beat it.

Our first full day in Dublin began with a continental breakfast at the hostel, followed by a trip to both Saint Patrick's Cathedral and Christ Church Cathedral.  Both are really amazing examples of architecture (but truly nothing compared to Westminster Abbey and Saint Paul's Cathedral, which come  later).  Saint Patrick's has a beautiful garden and park adjacent to the cathedral, where I made friends with several Irish dogs.

The interior of Saint Patrick's Cathedral

After going to Saint Patrick's and Christ Church, we sauntered down to the old Jameson Whiskey Distillery (ironic, I know).  The distillery is no longer the main factory for Jameson, but it functions as both a museum and storehouse.  When we walked in an employee immediately asked if we wanted to sign up for one of the tours that was set to leave at the top of the hour.  We declined, and instead made our way to the in-house bar, where I enjoyed an Irish coffee with Jameson whiskey.  It was only 10 am, but the bar had been open for a few hours already...

Will this Guinness barley fit in my carry-on?

That afternoon we made our way to the Guinness factory.  The factory only offers self-guided tours, but it is very comprehensive and extremely interesting.  The tour guides you through the entire history of Guinness and the brewing process -- did you know that when Arthur Guinness first began renting the original Guinness brewery space at St. James's Gate in 1759, he signed a 9000 year lease?  Also, I'm writing this blog while wearing my "Support your local microbrew" t-shirt.  Anyway, in the middle of the tour you arrive at the Guinness Academy, a room with four or five pouring stations at which patrons learn how to correctly pour a pint of Guinness.  Once you've learned, you can pour your own pint and drink it!  I got a special certificate that confirms that I am a certified Guinness pourer.  It's the little things, folks.  After the factory we found a café and settled for a while before heading to dinner.  We eventually made our way to the Temple Bar area, a central location for many of the bars in Dublin.  I won't go too much into detail, but it suffices to say I made good friends with some Australian rugby players while singing a certain hit by Bad Company.

I'm happy with the pint I poured

The next morning we went and toured the campus of Trinity College, as well as its famous old library.  The campus has some really amazing history, like the story about the drunk students in the 1800s who started a gun fight with a professor in the middle of the night, which resulted in a dead professor and three jailed students.  Lastly, we headed to Phoenix Park, a massive park and garden on the edge of Dublin.  After the park we took the bus to the Dublin airport.  After skipping baggage check and going through security, we had a light dinner and proceeded to our gate to fly to London.  The flight began to board, and when I reached the ticket counter, the steward asked for my "stamp." "Stamp?" I asked, bewildered.  "Yes, your stamp, on your boarding pass," he said.  Well I had no idea what he meant by that.  Turns out that if you fly on Ryanair, it's necessary to have your boarding pass stamped... BEFORE going through security.  But we had missed that because we didn't check our bags, the usual place for getting the stamp.

"But this flight leaves in 20 minutes," I said.  Nevertheless, the steward would not let us on the plane unless we had stamp.  "I'll give you ten minutes, you need to go back and get the stamp."  We dropped all our belongings and began to run through the airport, back through security, to the baggage check desk, and back.  This was no easy run -- I'd guess, in all seriousness, that we probably ran almost 3/4 mile round trip.  I was panting and sweating like no other, while my female counterparts cried and gasped, claiming we weren't going to make it.  We got to the baggage check desk and breathlessly asked them to stamp the boarding pass.  They declined, saying our gate was already closed.  I told them that I was given ten minutes and it had only been seven, so give me the God damned stamp.  She did, and we ran back, making it just in time to run across the tarmac barefoot (the shoes had come off at security).  We were the last passengers on the plane, sweaty and breathless, but we made it, barely.  Next stop, London.

A view down the River Liffey, at the center of Dublin

Dublin, London, Paris

Over the next eleven days, starting today, I'll be traveling to Dublin, London and Paris.  Today I fly to Dublin, where I stay for two nights, and then the London for three nights.  After that, I'll be joining the Dickinson group in Paris for four nights, a trip that is completely paid for by Dickinson (nice, right?)  Some of the attractions I plan on hitting:

Churchill War Rooms
London Eye
Shakespeare's Globe Theater
London Zoo
Tower of London
HMS Belfast
St. Paul's Cathedral
Buckingham Palace
Guinness Factory
Trinity College Library

And then a bunch of stuff in Paris.  If anyone has any suggestions for me, send me an email -- I should have internet access on my iPad to check that out.  Pictures and stories to come after my trip!

Comparing Academic Styles

I've been asked by The Dickinsonian, Dickinson College's student newspaper, to write a biweekly column about being abroad.  Sometimes, in lieu of writing a blog post, I'll just post the column here.  Thus, here is my third column for The Dickinsonian:

It’s pretty cliché to write about the differences between your host country and the United States, but that’s pretty much the point of going abroad – to be somewhere different. So, despite your protests, I’m going to write some more about cultural differences. I’m going to compare the college experience of a Dickinson student and a French student. Obviously I am not trying to speak for all Dickinson students or all French students, as my current expertise is rooted only in a month and a half of studies. But, it’ll give you a rough estimate.

First of all, I study at l’Institut d’Etudes Politiques (IEP), which is the political science college here in Toulouse. I take three classes – two of them have about 150 students, and the third has 30. The professor walks into the amphitheater, turns on the microphone, and proceeds to lecture nonstop for two and a half hours. She doesn’t pause, doesn’t ask for questions, doesn’t ask if what she’s saying is clear – she just goes, and when the clock runs out she walks back out of the class and we all leave. As you can see, this is not Dickinson College.

Also on the academic side – I barely have any homework. I have to keep up with current events, and read a pertinent document every now and then, but other than that I have no homework. There is one final exam at the end of the semester, and that is my only grade. Unlike Dickinson, I don’t have to read chapters of a textbook (oh and no textbooks) and there are no projects or biweekly essays. This is a perk if you ask me, but it is important to remember that my grade is based on one exam and one exam only.

Interestingly, French students traditionally go to school in their hometown or close to it; it is rare to travel great distances to go to college, as we do in the United States. Thus, none of the students live on campus. In fact, there is no “campus” per se. No academic quad, no Morgan Field. Just the building, the parking lot, and the sidewalk. And this isn’t just at IEP; this is most of the schools in the area.

Sciences-Po, as the school is nicknamed, is a single building on an unassuming street. It shares a library and a cafeteria with a neighboring university – there is no gym, no bookstore, no social hall, and no varsity sports teams. They don’t even have a Club 40. And this is what seems to be the defining feature of the universities in Toulouse: they are very barebones. You go to college to get an education, and that’s it. You can play casually for a club sports team, or use a community-based gym, but other than that the school doesn’t have much to offer.  Some student associations will put on events from time to time, but it pales in comparison to the offerings from MOB or the Event Advisory Board, for example.

Of course, we all know that Dickinson is recognized for its small class sizes, its plethora of student groups and organizations, and the beautiful school grounds. It’s almost the exact opposite of Sciences-Po. But that doesn’t mean I dislike my French school – on the contrary, I feel lucky to be going here because it has shown me a different system against which I can compare my own academic experiences. Yes, it’s been very different than Dickinson, but it has provided me with a new perspective on education on general, and being here has forced me to develop skills I haven’t exercised before – like sitting through a 150-minute lecture.

One Month

It's already been more than a month since I've arrived in France -- one month and three days, to be precise.  It doesn't seem like that, really.  Sometimes I feel like I've been here for three months, sometimes it feels like just a week.  I am continuing to make the adjustment to European life, but it comes to me easier every day.  The French language is also becoming easier every day.  I don't have to hear a question twice in order to answer it anymore, and my comprehension in my French classes has been improving as well.  What continues to be the most difficult cultural hurdle for me is social -- I have not yet found the French to be overwhelming friendly, so it is up to me to reach out to them when I want to make a social connection.  This is difficult sometimes, especially in a different language.

There are some other things I wanted to mention about Toulouse in general.  The first thing is how much I love the city's bike program.  It's called VéloToulouse (translation: BikeToulouse) and this is how it works: there are 253 bike stations all around the city, each with 20 or 25 bikes.  The bikes are locked to automatic bike racks, and for 20 euros a year you can have unlimited, 24/7 access to the bikes.  You walk up to the automated kiosk, swipe your membership card, choose a bike number, and the lock pops open.  You then have 30 minutes to make it to another station somewhere in the city, where you simply pop the bike into an available slot and are on your way.  The service is really awesome, especially when you stay out too late to make the last metro (midnight) or bus (1 a.m.).  There are two stations within five minutes of my host house, and I use it all the time.

One of the VéloToulouse bike stations

One of the amazing things about Europe is that if you go to an old enough city or village, some piece of history is around you at all times.  For example, there is a lot of history behind the street signs in Toulouse.  Yes, even European street signs have a story.  Here is one:

You'll notice that there are two there -- one looking slightly different than the other.  That is because the top one is in traditional French, and the bottom one is in the language Occitan.  Occitan is one of France's more than thirty regional languages, and is, obviously, the regional language of the Toulouse area.  The city of Toulouse, in an effort to preserve the endangered language, posts its street signs and its metro stops in both French and Occitan.

Another historical aspect of the street signs is their color.  The Garonne River, which splits Toulouse, runs from north to south.  All the streets in Toulouse that run along the north-south line have yellow signs.  All the streets that run along the east-west line have white signs.  The reason?  Because the Garonne runs north-south, the streets that also run north-south are considered to be going along with the river, and thus they keep it tranquil and undisturbed; the yellow represents the natural, undisturbed color of the river.  The streets that run east-west metaphorically cut across the Garonne, disturbing its flow; thus, the white color represents the white, frothy water created when the flow of the river is disturbed.  So, the Rue des Couteliers, pictured above, runs from east to west.  Interesting, right?

Another side note: the other night I went to a real rugby match, Toulouse vs. Biarritz.  I don't know much about rugby, but it was a good time and I imagine that's how an American football game would be.  The fans were blowing horns, drinking, and yelling.  I was smart and booed when those around me booed, and cheered when those around me cheered.  Like they say, when in a rugby stadium, do as the rugby fans do.

Flickr Account

Hey all --

I know one of the best ways to share an abroad experience is through pictures -- a picture is worth a thousand words.  Uploading all the pictures onto this blog would be a weighty task, and would require you to scroll through pages and pages of the blog.  So, to make things easier, I've created an account on the web service Flickr.  It's basically an online photo album with a link, and you can visit my photostream at any time and browse through all my pictures.  I've uploaded one album so far, and will continue to do so.  Here's the link to my photostream:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/ajtoole/

So, check that link every so often and you will get access to my photo album!  Let me know if it won't work, and I'll try to get it sorted out.

Thanks!

A Trip to the Pyrénées, and Some

This past week has been a busy one, with the onset of classes and projects and homework, etc.  The definite highlight of the week, however, was my trip to the Pyrénées with the Dickinson crew.  I'll do the play by play:

Day 1 (Saturday)

We met at the Dickinson center at 7:00 a.m., a little early for my tastes, and boarded a coach bus.  It was about a 2.5 hour drive (during which I slept), and we arrived in the small town of Estarvielle at mid morning. Estarvielle is exactly how you might expect a small French mountain village to be: it has a population of 32 people, is centered around the church, the houses are ancient, and most people drink for fun.  Estarvielle's economy is centered around Pyrenean tourism: skiing, hiking, and snowshoeing in the winter; cycling and hiking in the spring and summer.  Many of the small villages in the Pyrénées (and there are many dotting the Lourne Valley) farm cows, goats, and sheep, selling their milk, cheese, and wool to the larger towns surrounding the area.

After settling into the hostel in the center of town ("center" is misleading, since from the center you can throw a rock and successfully reach the 'outskirts' of town), we headed up to the village's church with the church caretaker.  She explained that this Catholic church was built in 1632 and has been used ever since.  When she explained that the sanctuary had great acoustics, the Dickinson program's director, Madame Toux, whipped her head around and looked me right in the eye.  "We have someone here who is in an a cappella group, maybe he can give us a taste of the acoustics in here?"  Although the word "maybe" was a part of the sentence, judging from her look there was no maybe about it.  So, another student who also sings, Sam, and I stood at the alter and agreed to sing the first verse of "Silent Night" in order to exemplify the acoustics.  She was right, they were pretty good.

A view of the church

The side door of the church

The center of town and the Pyrénées in the background

After the church tour, our group split into two -- half of us went to a café in another village and the other half went to the hostel's kitchen to help cook the night's dinner.  Much to my dismay, I was assigned to the cooking group.  We were to make garbure, a soup I thought of as the French version of stone soup.  Ingredients included potatoes, carrots, onions, turnips, cabbage, leeks, beans, ham, pork ribs, and duck.  We basically cut everything up, dumped it all in water, and let it cook for a while.  It would end up being delicious that night.  While we waited for the soup to cook, another guide arrived and took us on a hike through the valley.  We descended from Estarvielle and headed to the bottom of the valley, where there sits a lake and several fields.  We hiked along some bluffs over the lake, then went down right next to the water, and then completed our circle back in Estarvielle.  With the Pyrénées looming in the distance, it was one of the more beautiful views I had had while in France.

A view of the valley across the lake.  You're looking at Spain right through those clouds and just past the edge of the valley.

After the hike around the lake and the valley, we walked to the home of our guide's friend.  We were welcomed inside a cold and austere dwelling where we all sat and listened to the story told by the friend, a young woman in her late 20s or early 30s.  She had studied chemistry at a university in Bordeaux and had gotten a job in a lab upon graduation.  However, she was bored with that life, and decided to move to the mountains and pursue a more natural form of chemistry: making organic foods.  She now makes a living working for the tourism industry and moonlights as a producer of organic jams, jellies, breads, and, most importantly, alcoholic beverages.  Her speciality is called Frênésies Pyrénées. It is a slightly alcoholic (2% ABV) fermented juice made from the leaves of the ash tree (le frêne).  We were given samples, and it tasted like pear flavored champagne.  That's my best description.  I liked it so much I bought a bottle!  Apparently this juice has become so popular that she has been able to market it in some of the bigger towns nearby.

Day 2 (Sunday)

Day two of the trip was reserved for our big snowshoeing outing.  After breakfast, we met our guide and were given snowshoes and trekking poles.  Our guide, Michel, was one serious guy.  He was like the Indiana Jones of the French Pyrénées, complete with the hat and probably a whip under his jacket.  We began in the center of the village and made our way to the back, quickly ascending as we hit the side of the valley and began to go up.  The hike's route went up the side of the valley, traversed across to the west, and then back down into Estarvielle.  When we got to the top of the valley, the view was incredible.  We could see our own village as well as all those that dotted the landscape.  Michel pointed out some small farmhouses on our way up -- these were built into the side of the valley, with a ladder reaching up to the "first floor," where the farmer lived.  Built in the early 1800s by goat farmers, these homes are fairly far from the village but provided the farmer and his goats with plenty of grazing room in the spring and summer.

The house built into the side of the valley

Most of the students in my group found the snowshoeing to be difficult, but being from Maine I knew a thing or two.  I've only been snowshoeing a handful of times, but I think just being from Maine and knowing the snow makes you a better (person) snowshoer overall.  The best thing about the hike was the view.  All around us were the massive Pyrénées Mountains, and below us lay the valley, with its lake in the middle and a small river snaking through toward Spain.  We also had some pretty massive snowball fights along the way, most of which were instigated by the director, Madame Toux.

Estarvielle and its church from the top of the valley

A famous L.L. Bean model we met on our hike

A cross placed on a high point of the valley --  un cairn

The might Pyrénées

After descending from the top of the valley, we packed our belongings and hopped on the bus, which took us to another village.  Here we visited une fromagerie -- a small cheese farm.  It was one farmer and his two assistants, along with dozens of sheep, goats, and two cows.  The farmer made cheese, yogurt, milk, and other dairy-based delicacies I had never seen nor tried before.  I bought some yogurt and homemade blueberry jam, and we headed back to the bus.  On our way we passed a house with a dog tied to a doghouse outside.  There were two interesting features of this dog.  One, his name was Poopy.  Not even joking, it said so on his doghouse:

The other interesting part about seeing the dog was that he responded to French.  Thinking I was joking, I said "ici Poopy!" instead of "here Poopy" and his ears perked up and he started to walk over to me.  I'm not sure why I was so surprised he responded to French -- I mean he's a French dog.  It's not like all dogs are born knowing English and then slowly but surely learned French or Italian or Spanish.  I sat there feeling silly -- but even though I knew he had just grown up on French, I was still a little proud of my Poopy for being, in my mind, competently bilingual.

So that was my grand trip to the Pyrénées.  If you ever get a chance, go.  It is beautiful.  I have many more pictures than I posted here, and I am going to create a flickr account in the next few days and posta link here, that will make it easier to view them en masse.  Thanks for reading!