On Monday morning I wanted to throw my alarm clock out the window. It was the end of two very busy weekends that have left me grateful I will be staying in Besançon for a while now.
Weekend 1: Lausanne
Friday, November 11th, was Armistice Day (in commemoration of the WWII treaty with Germany), so I had yet another little holiday! Two friends and I decided to spend our long weekend in Lausanne, Switzerland – a beautiful Swiss city that is just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Besançon.
Lausanne is home to the International Olympic Committee and the Prix de Lausanne dance competition, so there is a lot of “excellence” around.
It is situated on Lake Geneva, which is quite possibly one of the most beautiful bodies of water I have ever seen!
Lausanne is a very efficient city. Its population is only about 125,000, so it is the smallest city in the world to have metro system.
On a night out – we met people from all over the world who live, work, and study in Lausanne – a few English people, French, German, Chinese, and Pakistani. I immediately got the impression that Lausanne is a relatively open place. But when I went to the restroom at the bar, I noticed a ton of graffiti all over the bathroom stall saying things like, “I hate Switzerland!” “All Swiss are racists.” “You have to be white to be Swiss.”
I was curious, so I checked the other stalls and found all the same type of graffiti.
It was odd to be in Lausanne, because although it is so close to Besançon, and the official language is French (albeit with a bizarre accent), it felt like a completely different country. It is difficult to put my finger on why. This is all I can come up with:
French people, like Americans, have a definite sense of being French. It is not something they constantly discuss, but it is part of their identity, especially when they meet foreigners. When I (as an American) meet a foreigner (which happens every day at the moment), being American is a large part of the way I present myself. It is somewhat of a source of pride to announce to my new acquaintance, “I am American.” In the same vein, they usually take pride in telling me, “I am French,” “I am Italian,” “I am German,” “I am English.”
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| A photo of my friend Gemma and me in Lausanne. (She happens to be English, and is quite proud of it!) |
With the Swiss, I didn’t sense this same type of urgency to announce their nationality. They are Swiss and they weren’t so worried whether or not we knew it. This feeling I have about Swiss identity also probably comes from the fact that most people who live in Lausanne aren’t actually Swiss. The city has more foreigners living and working there than actual Swiss citizens.
Back in Besançon for the Week
We arrived back from Lausanne late the night of Sunday, November 13th. I woke up early the next morning and went in to Besançon’s Fine Art Museum, where I have been doing some odd jobs. They had asked me to do a translation for the press release announcing an exhibit that is opening today (Friday, November 25th.) I strolled into the museum and found the place in a flurry.
They needed me to stuff envelopes for the press lunch, oh yeah, and also get to work on that translation! Other than a few small things I did for class when I was in college, I had never done a translation before.
Let’s just say it was harder than it seemed. A rather large part of my week was consumed with perfecting this translation, which ended up sounding like a French person trying to speak English. We had to settle for a less-than-perfect version because of time constraints, but I was frustrated because I knew I could have done better, given another week.
Oh well, all was forgotten as I embarked on my next weekend adventure: Paris.
Weekend 2: Paris
I hoped on a train after work on Friday and arrived in Paris around 8:00 pm. I was staying with my friends (sisters) Laura and Julia. We went to dinner at a little Italian restaurant near the girls’ house, where Laura and Julia (whose father is Italian) spoke in lilting Italian to the waiters. I was practically green with jealousy.
But it wasn’t long before I got to show off my own bilingual skills! My friend Greg from UVA was in Paris with his parents, so he came to meet us! We had a confusing ten minutes of trying to explain to Greg how to get to the restaurant.
He was calling us from a pay phone, speaking English to me, then Spanish to his parents (who are Mexican-American) waiting behind him. I then had to turn to Laura, asking directions in French then translating what she said into English for Greg. Finally, Laura got on the phone and said the directions in Italian, hoping Greg might understand (since sometimes Spanish and Italian sound similar.) In the end, with a mix of all these attempts, Greg arrived at the correct metro stop and off we went!
We went to a “DJ Party” at the music venue connected to the Moulin Rouge – no, we were not in the old cabaret hall, but we did get to queue outside it while waiting to go in.
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| Greg and me outside the Moulin Rouge |
Seeing my friend Greg was an absolute joy, and reminded me that I’m really never THAT far away from the people I love….
During my days in Paris, I walked around with Laura and Julia. They live in the Bastille neighborhood, which is in the 11th arrondissement. They are right on the border of the Marais, which used to be a primarily Jewish neighborhood, but has slowly morphed into one of the most chic shopping areas in Paris. This may be because the Jewish shop owners had no qualms about opening their stores on Sundays, so Parisian shoppers flocked to the Marais to buy the latest fashions after Sunday mass.
For a break, we relaxed in the Gardens of Tuileries. Later, we had a coffee at the top of the Pompidou Center, and saw a lovely panorama of the Parisian night skyline.
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| Champs Elysee on a Sunday Afternoon |
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| Outside of the Pompidou Center |
I definitely caught the Paris bug this weekend, and I have to admit, it was with a bit of reluctance that I boarded my train for Besançon Sunday night.
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