Joyeux Onze Novembre!

Not sure if you are personally celebrating, but in case you are, happy November 11^th! Because us Americans are used to this day being marked on the calendar, yet not earning us time off from school or work, we may simply write it off as nothing, and I think I will forgive you if you missed it this year as well. But, as are most things, this is different in France, or at least chez-moi. My university was completely shut down today (if only I had class on Wednesday to miss…), stores were closed throughout Lyon, and the whole country celebrated the Armistice which ended the First World War. To top it off, the sun came back out again. As I said, it was quite a day.

The Rossi’s decided to take the party aspect of the day one step further. Let me first give you some background. As I mentioned earlier, my host father had a pretty serious bike accident some five years ago which has left him paralyzed from the waist down. Needless to say, all the tasks that he had become accustomed to doing in the garden were no longer possible from a wheelchair. Their house here, which up to this point I have only marginally described, is situated on a good sized piece of land for being in the city, and their property is right smack in the woods of the hill; clearly, there is plenty to keep a gardener busy. My host mother described to me how, at the time of the accident, she thought that she would be forced to hire a gardener to take care of all the greenery. Quelle horreur.

Fortunately, it was friends to the rescue. Not sure who initiated it, but a tradition began the following year that, on every November 11^th, their friends would come from all over France to help out in the garden. Despite everyone having the day off from their normal jobs, about twenty people every year are willing to get down to business a little after 10am in the Rossi garden. For me, it was really an understood cost of my lodging here, and I really had little choice but to help out. But, it turned out to definitely be a day well spent.

The formula is simple: everyone comes over to the house in the morning ready to work, and in the afternoon, they are rewarded with a grand French meal. For two hours straight, people are up and down around the property “preparing the garden for winter”, that is to say folding up outdoor furniture, bringing plants indoors, and cutting hedges throughout the yard. Not sure if Smokey the Bear would have approved, but all the leaves and debris collected from the yard were marched to the top of the hill, and promptly burned in a pile. Somehow, a forest fire was not started, but, I’ll admit, I had my doubts. It was quite a sight to see the 21 of us, most above the age of 55, running around cleaning up this yard, everyone trying to find their specialty (mine, you ask? That would be bringing the potted plants inside, as everything else required way more brainpower or French). After 2 hours, we were all covered in dirt, a bit exhausted, and very content with the progress made. Let the eating begin.

The meal was more than worth the work; after starting off with some champagne, of course, we went onto have a very heavy meal of “choucroute,” which is basically a few types of meat and sauerkraut (but is not German! I nearly lost a few fingers when I asked that of my host mother while she was brandishing a knife. Apparently it is distinctly French). Everyone was seated at a massive table I had not seen before, and having a great time, especially as the wine bottles continued to empty. Most people wanted to talk to me about what I thought of France and Lyon, and how much they loved New York. It was one of those meals where we all had a great time, but at the end I was glad that no one had to drive home as we are in France, and walking or the train would suffice.

While a bit confused at first, I eventually realized why this was such a great deal for all parties involved. For the Rossis, they really do not have to do a whole lot; my host mother was simply directing traffic all day, while my host father was snapping pictures of the proceedings, which he found exceedingly funny. Plus, they do not have to hire a gardener, or anything nearly as shameful. The rest of us put in a little bit of physical labor, and were rewarded with an amazing meal. Some people come every year, and this is an easy way to stay in touch with friends, as chatting while pulling weeds is a great way to catch up. This has become a definite tradition around the Rossi household, and I can definitely see why so many people keep coming back every year.

No, it may not have been a wild excursion to a foreign land, but it was definitely an enjoyable day for this American abroad. While I may not have followed every conversation flying around me, and needed to ask a couple times what exactly that thing was that I was supposed to go get, it was still an immersion in French culture that you can only get from a home-stay program like this one. Tiring? Possibly, as I went for a nice siesta after working hard, both in the garden and at the lunch table.

But in terms of fully taking advantage of a French family experience, I think I can now safely check that one off my list.

Un Goût Complètement Différent

After waking up to the stunning, yet personally exciting, news that President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize, I set off on Friday for yet another weekend adventure. The latest installment in my travels around Europe took me to the Champagne region of Northeast France, notably the city of Reims. Recognizing that study abroad is above all a cultural experience (who ever said anything about academics?), Penn funded (through our tuition dollars, yes, but it still felt free) this trip for the 23 of us and our program director, the first of two such excursions this semester. So, on a gray afternoon in Lyon, we all piled onto the bus for the long ride up to Reims. The six hour journey was briefly interrupted for a stop for a buffet dinner at a French highway rest stop that put its American counterparts to shame. Once in Reims, it was confirmed that we actually were staying in a hostel (I guess Penn could not spring for that hotel), a first for me which actually turned out to be survivable. Despite the fact that the bathroom was basically one large shower, in the sense that the door was replaced by a curtain and the sink and toilet were in said shower, the five of us in our room found it to be perfectly fine for a weekend.

Saturday morning brought a too early wakeup call for our voyage out to the wineries of the Reims countryside. While winding through narrow roads, we looked out over the perfectly ordered rows of grapes that stretched nearly as far as the eye could see. There were a few little towns that our tour guide walked us through, always marked by a historic cathedral at the center holding the body of some famous Frenchman, but each time we would come out on the otherside of a town, there would be more vast landscapes of grapes. Our first stop on the wine tour was a smallish champagne brand, with a simple looking factory standing out among the scenery. We were promised a tasting at the end, and thus were a bit distracted throughout his whole history of the winery and process, as each room was filled with more bottles (or vats) of champagne that only made us want it more. One tidbit I did pick up was with regards to the regulation of the process, as I naturally focused once the owner mentioned politics. Apparently the French government has strict regulations as to how you must produce the champagne (ie the grapes cannot travel more than 25 kilometers from field to factory), as well as how much is produced this year, in order to guarantee the price stability no matter the economic climate. But, what I had never realized before the owner casually mentioned it, was that all the champagne in the world is created in this small region of France. An international symbol of celebration, from New Year’s Eve to weddings to World Series celebrations, all of it is produced in small villages in this region of France. Despite globalization and all of its effects, champagne is one product that truly has not strayed from its down-home country roots, a fact that this economics major found striking.

Round two of our “degustation” tour took us to a much more corporate champagne headquarters of the Veuve Cliquot brand of champagne. This was actually located inside the city limits of Reims, and was highlighted by a seemingly endless cavern of, to date, unmarked bottles of champagne waiting (and aging) until the perfect year for consumption. Similar to the first tour, we did get some tasting in at the end, and despite the huge price tag on these bottle compared to the first winery, it tasted pretty similar. Clearly, we do not have refined taste buds, but still a success all the way.

We were able to explore downtown Reims (pronounced like “rinse” with a heavy French accent) on Saturday night and Sunday, further confirming our collective desire to at the very least frequently vacation in Europe after this semester is over. Definitely not a tourist town, there were a few spots not to be missed in the city, notably the Reims Cathedral, which was for centuries the home of the coronation of the French King. An enormous structure dating from the 12^th Century (I think), it, like many others, made me wonder how on earth in the middle ages anyone was able to construct a building that large yet adorn it with so many rich, intricate details and sculptures. Yet, in my mind this was completely overshadowed by the goings on in the center square of Reims: a Canadian fair! Someone thought it was a good idea to invite the Canadians to Reims for the week, and set up all along the walk were small tents of Canadian merchants selling everything from maple syrup to Caribou beef to lumberjack flannel shirts. No hint of an explanation as to why this was going on or why Reims was the chosen city for this spectacle, but with teepees at each end filled with stuffed bears and raccoons, I liked it.

So, another weekend, another journey, although this one a distinctly classier affair than the previous weekend in Munich. The ride back was once again six hours, which we undertook in the afternoon and thus thought we would head straight back sans interruption. But, of course, we had to visit another rest stop because of a French law requiring bus drivers to take a 45 minute break every so many hours behind the wheel (have I mentioned I love the French?). However, after walking inside and finding not only a food section of the convenience store, but also a legitimate fashion clothing section in the rest stop, I was content. The French never cease to impress.