Billy Goats Gruff

Hello patient readers,
As usual, I am late posting this update, but why break with tradition now. Over Easter break, I went back to the goat farm to spend my vacation week hanging with the goats, making cheese and helping out around the farm during the spring rush. My friend Brenna came for the first couple days, and her presence (and amazement at certain of the farm rituals) reminded me just how singular a place it is.
(Check a few photos here.)

To describe it would make it sound very hippie and slightly ridiculous, which it may be. The ingredients are all there: herd of organic goats and sheep, shaggy old man who doesn't cut his beard or wear shoes, a trailer parked in a field with its outside painted with a flowery mural, an 900lb pig who grew so large when the family couldn't bring themselves to butcher him, a yurt, any number of people sleeping in, on, under, and around the house. They don't have heating in their house, other than the stove, but this trip I knew that in advance and so I was warm in cozy in my multiple layers and sleeping bag. (Brenna borrowed Angela's German one, called the Schlafsack, which is probably the most awesome thing I have ever heard of.) Either way, I love it there, and it was a perfect vacation.

Each day started with some tea and bread in the kitchen that is the center of the farm universe. Then we would go down and feed and milk the goats. It was pretty hard at first, and very tiring for hands unused to such exercise, but I made much progress as the days went on. If the goats thought you were nervous or didn't know what you were doing, they would jump around and try to kick the bucket and it would be impossible to milk them, so you couldn't hesitate. One of the goats was very naughty and we would fight over who had to milk her.

Then we took the buckets of milk to the fromagerie, where we filtered it, added cultures and some of the previous day's whey, and put it in a small warm room to sit for 24-36 hours. Then we would tend to the other cheeses, turning them, salting the newer ones, removing the newest ones from their molds and putting them on wire grills to dry. The cheeses all start about the size of a half pound burger on their second day of life, then shrink. After about a month, they dry to about the size of two Oreo cookies. You can eat it at any phase, so in the markets here they ask you how you like your cheese when you buy it. When very fresh (a couple days old), it is tangy tasting and barely stays in its shape, sort of like Boursin cheese. Demisec (halfdry, about two weeks later) is my favorite, it has developed a skin distinct from the inside, and a creamy layer right underneath the skin. It is the consistency of a Brie. Then, wait a few more weeks, and you have a hard cheese, very rich tasting. I had no idea it was so easy to make cheese. The conditions must be right, which is the hardest part, in terms of monitoring humidity and temperature, but mostly it is a matter of time. Needless to say, I was in heaven. I ate a lot of goat cheese: the classic after dinner with bread, on pizza, in pasta, and the day after it was made as a goat cheese yogurt. Delicious.

After that part of the day, it is about 9:30 and you have to sort of invent your own tasks to some extent. Every day was different. I did a lot of cleaning around the house and barn, helped make some raspberry jam, and helped their son Béranger. He is a vegetable farmer, which seems to me much more labor intensive than raising animals. He rents his land, so he has to be very productive to make a profit. I helped him dig furrows for asparagus. Thursday and Friday were bread days, so I got to help. Sounds bucolic, to make bread for market, but kneading 40+ pounds of dough for 25 minutes is hard work. Taking the bread out of the ovens is incredibly hot and you have to move fast to keep up, but it was very exciting, and the fresh bread was beyond compare.

In the afternoons, I would often take the goats out to pasture, where they would graze for about three hours eating whatever interested them on the ground. They are sort of like dogs, they will come up to you and nuzzle you with their horns and want to be pet. Sadly, this was not a good year for the herd. They were struck with some mysterious malady that caused 10+ deaths, and over 14 miscarriages this spring. The vets ran many tests, but couldn't find the problem, and Dédé is clearly very upset and worried about his animals. It also is worrying because it means much less milk (and thus cheese, and thus money for the family). Things seemed to be getting better while I was there, and there were two goats who were still pregnant, due to deliver soon. I don't have more news on how they are doing, but I hope those babies were born alive, unlike the rest this year. (So far, only one baby has survived this year.)

So the farm was wonderful, despite some goat health concerns. It was lovely to be in the countryside, and to help make my own food, and to learn much more about farms, French farm vocabulary, and cheesemaking. I am hoping to visit more farms this summer, and I strongly encourage any and all to WOOF whenever possible!

Eurotrip

So my friends and I were talking over tea back when it was cold and grey in Lyon, fantasizing about trips and warm weather, and we were thinking come spring we should rent a car and drive up to see the castles in the Loire valley. And then we (me, Nat, Angela, Brenna, and Paul) actually did it. And it was glorious.

We saw everything of interest on the way there and back and in the general vicinity of the castles: Vichy (where we took the curative, or weird-tasting, waters and experienced a creepily empty town), Orléans (sweet cathedrale, pretty downtown, Joan of Arc everywhere), Tours (fun squares, good resto, another cool cathedral where supposedly Angela's favorite saint is buried), and Bourges (best cathedrale ever, nice park, good pastries). We stayed in a cute hostel at what used to be a school in the town of Beaugency, where the five of us shared a room and bathroom all to ourselves, it was perfect. Despite some occasional nocturnal snores.

And then there were the castles. The first full day, Saturday, we went to Blois (Chateau Royal), then Chambord, then Cheverny. They all had their moments, but my favorite was Chambord, with its amazing double helix double staircases, 440 rooms, and incredible rooftop terraces. Blois was cool because it had lots of different parts, and each had a different architectural history and style. Cheverny was cool because the family of ONE OF OUR FRIENDS USED TO OWN THIS CASTLE. In the craziness that was the French Revolution, they were forced to give it up, and now another family owns it, but still, pretty damn awesome. (ah, les anciens aristos.) Now the family is known for their 80 dog hunting pack, whose daily feeding you can watch at 5pm. Clearly, we did, and it was intense. For those of us who are used to dogs as spoiled suburban pets, these were almost an entirely different animal, but the hounds were beautiful and impeccably trained. And hungry. It was a busy day of chateaux, but some strangely Frenchified TexMex restored us for the next day.

Sunday we went to Chenonceau (see photo), which was my very favorite castle, possibly because I so dearly loved all the kitchen stuff. That and the idea of a castle that spans a river is fantastic. It also had much more extensive grounds and gardens than all the others, including a labyrinth, a 16th century farm, a small wax museum, and a tulip garden. Last but not least, we went to Amboise, where we were surprised to discover the tomb of Leonardo DaVinci (designer of the amazing double helix stairs in Chambord). Apparently he loved France and died here. And somehow the French managed to keep his body. The castle was really interesting, much more what we think of when we think of castle, very high on a hill, huge walls looking down, well fortified, etc. We sat outside for quite a while on the manicured lawn, talking over our crazy tourist weekend, and agreed that road trips are the way to go. (especially when you have someone who is at least 25 to rent the car!)

I am working on the photo thing, but for now, I will just post one.
In other news, we had a great baby shower for Lizzy, who is due in just two weeks! Also, I leave this evening for the goat farm with Brenna, and can't wait to hopefully actually partake in the making of cheese this time, and maybe go to market and everything! Happy Easter to all!

Parent Party!

Hey there all, if anyone still has the patience to check my infrequently updated blog... what can I say, life is busy. So, at the end of March, my parents came to France! It was terribly exciting and our week was full to the brim, but I wanted to at least give the highlights and post some photos, although I left most of the photo documentation to Len.

AWESOME STUFF WE DID/SAW
in Lyon:

• Brasserie Georges restaurant
• Place des Celestins and urban contemporary art tour
  
• Croix-Rousse, the organic and general street market, traboules
• walk down to Hotel de Ville, place des Terraux, fountain, garden and outside of Fine Arts Museum
• dinner with my roomies at my house
• Parent party also at my house, lots of friends came and spoke varying degrees of English with my parents, embarrassing stories were told, much wine was drunk, good times were had by all. (French friend to me: "I can't believe you invited your parents to a party with your friends")
  
• silkweaving workshop (and gift shop!)
• Fourvière, basilica, view, walk down hill through gardens
• Vieux Lyon, a typical bouchon lyonnais
• about a million cafés
• Vélov to Les Halles de Lyon (thanks Paul Bocuse!)
• picnic in the parc de la tête d'or, greenhouse tour, bike around to see elephants, etc
• Brasserie Le Sud (thanks again Paul Bocuse!)
• shopping on Victor Hugo and Rue de la Ré

with rental car:

• Chambéry
• Annécy and its Lake
• lakeside drive, into the mountains and eventually home
• Pérouges, old medieval town
• les Côtes du Rhône
• vineyard tour and degustation of glorious (organically produced, clearly) wines

in Paris:

• musée Rodin
• île Saint Louis
• île de la Cité, Notre Dame
• walk around the Marais
• Petit Nicholas exhibit at Hotel de Ville
• Panthéon
  
• Le Timbre restaurant, rive gauche
• crêperie
• beaucoup de flânerie
  
• musée de la photographie (um, awesome.)
• probably lots of other stuff I can't even remember

In conclusion, a glorious trip in which we tried to see everything possible, and I have to admit, I was exhausted by the end, so I hope my rents weren't too run into the ground. It is lots of fun showing off my city and home away from home, and I can't wait to have more visitors soon...

Life in Lyon

Spring is coming! Last saturday, it was absurdly beautiful outside, and we spent about six hours having an absurdly long picnic in the huge municipal park (complete with a lilypad pond, elephants and a rose garden). Then it got cold again, as cold as it has even been here almost, and now today we are back to a normal early spring beautiful, chilly day. I am very excited to put away my mittens for a while and all the adorable ($$$) clothes in the store windows are making me yearn for warmth.

In other news, the strike continues. I have been teaching and going about my life as usual anyway, without much trouble, except for one appointment at Lyon II, the larger, public university on the banks of the Rhône. They are very committed to the current strike, much more so than the normaliens. I was trying to meet with a professor about my application to the crazy master's program called "Oral and Written Cultures". She was interested in my thesis topic, and I was excited to meet with a potential thesis advisor, but when I got to the school, all the doors were blocked with furniture. Thank you strike, I thought, as I tried my fourth and fifth entry. The professor had given me very specific instructions on how to reach her office from a certain door, and by the time I found my way inside (with the help of an old lady also trying to breach the socialist barricades), I was completely turned around. Add to that the fact that inner corridors were also blocked with huge piles of tables and chairs, and you have a mess. I eventually made my way to her office (via various antics including walking across a dry swimming pool), and though I was fairly late, she still wasn't ready for me so it all worked out.

As far as next year's plans, I am hoping for a scholarship but would also be happy to be a lectrice again. We had a lovely lectrice dinner en ville on Thursday, with a group of 11 foreign language instructors and we gossiped about students, the strike, and life in the residences. It is a really great community, and most of the other lectrices are staying next year, which makes me think it could be fun, especially as I am dead set on getting a "real" apartment somewhere. In the extreme offchance that I am the lucky one person to receive the scholarship from the national library of France for next year, I guess I may move to Paris? but that seems so unlikely I am not really considering it. Anyway, for all of you who haven't come to visit yet, you should have plenty of time.

In other news, my contemporary art class finally started, despite the fact that our prof is technically striking, so we are having cours hors murs (French phrase I find nearly impossible to pronounce correctly, meaning a course taking place outside the university). We met in a square in town, and walked around for two hours, looking at contemporary art in urban settings, discussing the place of contemporary art in the public domain, and taking advantage of a beautiful day. The prof is really knowledgeable and it was a great and interesting class. I saw lots of things that I had no idea existed, and I can't wait to show off my new tourguide skills when my parents come in two weeks!

Until then, I will be hanging out in Lyon, working on grading some essays (one of which is titled, "The importance of seeing prostitutes in empty street"), application essays, etc. We are saying a sad goodbye to a good friend Andrea who is leaving this week for his native Italy, and we are having many a get together (a great oldschool brewery last night, sushi date tonight, american style brunch tomorrow, beer night sunday) and generally enjoying our time as the weather slowly warms...

Ireland

So, last week I was in Ireland, enjoying the intensely green landscapes, the adorable accents, and the plentiful pints. I stayed at Trinity College Dublin with Rahul, which was a lovely home base, being both beautiful and a tourist attraction in itself, as well as being very centrally located to many of the wonders Dublin has to offer. I took a number of day trips, including to Dalkey and Howth, ocean-side villages just outside Dublin. I was extremely lucky to have spent a week there and only had one day of drizzle.

In Dalkey, we were lucky enough to enjoy a brisk walking tour from a woman from Rahul's creative writing program who has lived there all her life. The views were beautiful, the walk was lovely, we saw Bono's house (or gate...) and the pub at the end was full of very vocal rugby supporters.
In Dublin, my favorite sites included St. Stephen's park, the national gallery, and the national photographic archives. In the last, I sweet-talked my way in to the appointment-only research room and got to wear gloves and look at the collection of a man named Roger Casement, who traveled to Congo as a member of the British Foreign Service and took some interesting photographs of the colonies. I pretended that this was even more relevant to my theoretical master's thesis, and enjoyed myself greatly.

I also traveled to Cork and Blarney, where I toured the extensive gardens and castle and kissed the stone (notice the gift of gab and my newfound eloquence kicking in? yeah, me neither.) In Cork, I befriended some French tourists (what can I say, I missed making language mistakes) and an Irish couple, who took us around to their favorite pubs. It was great fun, and there was live music at one of them, which is always fun.

Lastly, I went to Howth, where I experienced a freakishly glorious day for February, hiked a lot, saw seals, and had a crazy small world experience, when I ran into Dan and Scott Miley, who are from Lexington.

All in all, I highly recommend the Emerald Isle!
I attach some photos for your viewing pleasure.

Cliffs by Howth
Blarney Castle
Dalkey
Seal friend in Howth

Feeding Frenzy

So, I used to (by which I mean I still do, but realize this colors me as somewhat hypocritical in light of what I am about to write) call my mother Suzy Whole Earth, teasing her about her passion for all things free range, whole grain, and organic. But, as it turns out, the pesticide-free apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And so, I am writing this post to confess that
I am turning into kind of a serious food hippie.

This started slowly but surely, with me loving Trader Joe's and trying to buy organic stuff when it wasn't too expensive. Then I read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver (highly recommended!), and was inspired to try to buy produce that was both organic and as locally grown as possible. When I came to France, I was happy to find that the local part was very easy. There are farmer's markets in my neighborhood a few times a week, and organic markets in some part of Lyon twice a week. I promised myself to buy only things that were grown in France, leaving me with a pretty huge selection, as well as being able to feel good about myself. Then my hippie frenzy encouraged me to coerce my roomies into buying a bread machine. (We did, it is glorious, I can never go back.) Kingsolver also inspired me to try to steer clear of processed and preprepared food whenever possible, and I am fortunate enough to have roommates who all enjoy cooking, at least occasionally. In my house, we each cook once a week (I'm Sunday) and eat family style about six nights out of seven. The next step in my food fanaticism was the trek out to the Croix-Rousse neighborhood on Saturday mornings to buy from the biggest organic market. (I still haven't managed to coerce my roomies to get up for this though...) Then of course there was the trip to the organic goat farm with the roomies back in October, which deepened my love of all things organic and made me want to make my own cheese. Hey, we all need dreams.

And then, Tuesday night, I went with a friend to a Slow Food Lyon meeting. I had heard of Slow Food, and thought it sounded like a really neat organization, so when Camille asked me to go, I jumped at the chance. (For info on the organization, check out www.slowfood.com) She had joined in September, and said all the people were really nice, and it was a small, multi-generational group. I went along, to a small, high end organic grocery store run by one of the members. The Lyon chapter is very small, which surprised me: there were only 7 of us, so it was very intimate, and they seemed happy to have me. We tasted some organic wines, nibbled on cheese and some spicy tuna spread, and talked about the importance of regional food culture. As an American, this idea is somewhat lacking in my personal heritage. We, with a very few exceptions, don't have local food products and loyalty the way Europeans (and especially the Italians and French) do. To my eyes, the French are already much more appreciative of good food, willing to pay a little more for good quality ingredients, and willing to spend a little more time seeking out and cooking with them. But to real foodies, the whole world, and France in no way excluded, is undergoing a massive cultural food crisis, at the hands of fast food, cheap international produce, and decreasing free time devoted to the culinary arts. So it was very interesting to sit in on a meeting where the members were discussing how to combat these forces.

I found the whole thing fascinating, even though it was a somewhat administrative meeting, as they are in the midst of organizing a big food festival for March. I promised Camille I would help her with her table, where we will be doing a taste testing of the differences between popular mass produced snacks and foods like cookies and pizza and their homemade counterparts. To this end, I have requested many chocolate chips from Jacquie, who is headed stateside for the break. After the dégustation, we will discuss the practical, financial and health-related differences. I am excited to be a part of the atelier, and perhaps eventually, an active member of Slow Food Lyon in my own right. Wish me luck, and bon appétit!

Grève!

So, for anyone who has ever studied abroad or lived in France, this post is inevitable. This is not my first experience with a French strike, far from it, but it does come the closest to hitting home. From time to time, it is hard to find rental bikes because all the public transport workers are striking and there are no metros, buses or trams. This could last a day or a month. Classes in Paris 8 (a university) closed down for six weeks last year due to student strikes. I have a few friends here who are very serious about the whole strike/protest scene, and it is very interesting to hear it described. One of my students asked my permission to come to the other section of class so that he could strike on his usual day. I said of course, and then asked him to explain (in English, of course) the philosophy behind the strike. Similar to the current strike, that one was started to protest the government's proposed changes to the educational system. On the one hand, almost everyone I have talked to agrees that the system requires serious alterations, but on the other hand, the ones that Sarco has approved are wildly unpopular, especially with teachers. The last strike had been started by students, but the current one was started by the profs.
In theory, I would love to strike. I really admire the spirit of protest, and the conviction of all my students when they talk about the reforms. I agree that the reforms (somewhat No Child Left Behind comparable, but worse and more widespread across the ages and into the university system) seem wretched, and yet, something stops me from participating. Maybe it was the fact that it was the first week of classes for the second semester, and I am eager to teach again. Maybe it was the fact that none of the other foreign lectrices were striking, nor was my boss, so I somehow felt I didn't have the right. Maybe it's the fact, that not being French, I can't vote on anything here, so I feel I really can't help a lot. But I think I am just too American at heart. I don't understand the passion that makes people refuse to work, to cut their own pay, to descend to the streets, in the hopes that the government will suddenly choose to listen on issues that the general population will never get to vote on. None of the people I talked to truly felt that the strike would do more than prove their unhappiness. I asked some striking friends what they thought would happen as a result of the strike, and they said that of course nothing would change.
In my eyes, the French strike so often that the act has lost the powerful effect it needs for a huge issue like this. Few can offer realistic solutions. My Yankee gut is to call a senator, try to organize a public forum, or vote a public official in or out of office. And so I didn't grève, I didn't put up signs or blocade the entrances to the school. I also didn't mark anyone absent from my classes, but that's a passive aggressive support at best. I do admire the spirit of dissent, but I just don't possess it in enough abundance to take it to the town square with a witty banner. (or maybe it's my French vocab stopping me...) The day I write here about participating in a strike, that's when you will know I have fully gone Gallic.