McDonalds, this one's for you

Dear McDonalds,

or more affectionately

Dear MacDo,

I suppose I can't thank you for being an American corporation with an international presence that may threaten the fabric of European life as we know it. We have our differences, I know. I still haven't gotten over that one time I was at the Pantheon in Rome, and I turned around to see you creeping up behind me. That wasn't cool MacDo. But let us put our differences aside because today I would like to say thank you. Thank you for having not one, but two branches in middle-of-nowhere France (who are we kidding, Angers isn't Paris, it isn't Cannes, but it's not so bad, we both know that). Thank you for being open 7 days of the week with very reasonable hours all 7 days. Thank you for McFlurries, thank you for parfaits. But above all, thank you for wifi. I would like to sincerely thank you for the free and unlimited access you grant me to the internets. All of them. All the internets. Because it is because of you MacDo, that I hauled my computer across Angers, through the empty parking lot of Geant Casino on a hot day, sat myself down and hammered out all the blog posts I'd been holding back.

So here's to you MacDo, for being better than your bad rap.

And here's to you French MacDo, because you have chocolate mousse on your euro menu.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Shannon "smathers" Mathers

Festival de Cannes 2009

And now for the post we've all been waiting for…

Ladies and Gentleman, le Festival de Cannes 2009!

 

In a wonderful confluence of events, I made it to the last few days of the Cannes Film Festival last weekend.  Cannes itself is a gorgeous seaside town in the south of France with (as I learned) a few islands close by.  My first day there I went to the Ile de Sainte Marguerite where the man in the iron mask was imprisoned.  I got into the prison itself and adjacent museum for free because it was the very end of the day (my friends and I had taken the last boat of the day to get to the island).  It’s nothing too impressive to look at these days, just a couple of empty seaside prison cells, but it was pretty cool to walk around nonetheless.

There it is, the 40 year home to the man in the iron mask:

An iron mask is no good, but if you've gotta be in prison, at least this one has a nice view.

The next day we went to the Cannes Cinephile building to pick up our badges for the festival.  If you’re a film student or a member of a film fan club it’s pretty easy to get an accreditation to get into the festival, you just send proof of film student/fan status and a letter explaining why it would be super duper cool if you got to go to the festival and why movies are way awesome.  However, what this means is that, if accepted, you get a badge which permits you to get passes which MAY let you get into the films of the festival.   And those passes are not guaranteed, you have to go to the Cinephile building each morning and see which passes are available for the day, then you get to choose one or two and show up to the screening an hour ahead of time (depending on the film) to wait in line with the other students and non-professionals and hope you can get into the film.  However, we did not know this when we tried to see our first “Official Selection” film.  We got dressed up and arrived 15 minutes before hand only to be told that the tickets we thought we had were not actually tickets, they were more like “potential tickets” and there was no more room left in the screening for us, it was full.  We went to dinner, bummed, but showed up extra early at the next screening, determined not to be defeated a second time.  This film was Bad Boys of Cell 425 and was not a part of the official selection in competition; it was a part of a selection of 15 films which represent the festival's attempt to diversify its selection.  Once again, we did not know this. This meant, also, that we didn’t need to be there an hour ahead of time.  After asking everyone and their mother what time people usually line up, we got there a half an hour before the film was scheduled to start and we were the first ones in line.  Victory!

 

...sort of. 

 

We were also the only ones in line for a while.

 

 Bad Boys of Cell 425 wasn’t a bad film at all, but it was a very rough verité-inspired documentary about 7 men who share a single cell in a Polish Prison.  The filmmaker was a Polish man who hung out in a Polish prison cell for a week with a camera, interviewed the prisoners, and filmed what happened.  I gave the title in English, but the film itself was in Polish with French subtitles.  Luckily, I’ve been studying French for the last 4 months, so I could follow the film.  However, it was still quite a cultural experience, I felt bad for my non-film major friends.  Especially since the filmmaker used shots that expressed the limited space of the cell so watching was uncomfortable.  But it was a very interesting subject because the film delves into the lives of individual prisoners, their likes, dislikes, and how they get through each day.  They seem like pretty nice guys for the first three quarters of the movie.  Then they start talking about their crimes and you remember why they’re in prison and stop empathizing as much; it was a clever story-telling technique, one I liked a lot.

 

And because we only made it to the end of the festival, this was the only feature-length film we saw. However, the next day we went to screening of all the short films in competition, which was wonderful, the selection was excellent.  They were beautiful, touching, wonderful, and bizarre; aaand a great consolation prize for not seeing more features.  For more info.

The short film directors:

 

The theater:

That was my little excursion to the Cannes Film Festival.  No, I didn’t see any celebrities.  A lot of people who looked really familiar, the sorts of character actors you know you’ve probably seen 100 times but you have no idea who they are, but no real celebrities.  

I did however see a pretty good Brad Pitt impersonator. 

Blue Beard's Castle

The Vendée was a bit of a downer, so afterward, to brighten our weekend adventure, we hit up the chateau of a child molester… Yeah, it was kind of a depressing weekend. Gilles de Rais, or Blue Beard as he was later nicknamed, was a friend of Joan of Arc’s, no joke, but after she was put to death he may have gone a little wacky.  Don’t worry, that was just the biggest understatement of the last several centuries.  It’s unclear whether he had these pedophilic tendencies while he was palling around with Joan of Arc, but what is clear is that he suffered from a split personality and after her death, he was responsible for the rape, torture, and murder of over a hundred young children in his dominion.  The number of victims may be as high as 250, but there’s no real way to know these days, but he confessed to over 100 of these crimes shortly before his death.  One of his castles, the one we visited, is now used to display medieval weaponry.  There’s also a room underground with a very creepy show about the search for the sorcerer’s stone through alchemy with references to human sacrifice and the occasional screams of cats in the distance.  In light of the horrible things that had probably happened in that very castle, I thought it in poor taste.  

Vendee

The weekend after Belgium, I went with SUNDEF to the Vendée militaire.  It took me the whole week to figure out what the Vendée militaire was.  Turns out Vendée is a region of France, one that sits right next to Anjou (home to Angers) in the west of France.  And the Vendée militaire was a region (roughly modern Vendée, but including some of what is nowAnjou) where there was a strong resistance to the French Revolution.  That is, there was a large Royalist presence, people who were perfectly happy living in their comfortable homes, practicing their religion, and being maintaining their allegiance to the king.  Then, over in a little town called Paris there was this tiny little event the FRENCH REVOLUTION.  The Royalists of the Vendée worried that their lives would never be the same, some of them fled to England, but many stayed put and went about their lives.  Unfortunately, as the Revolution got ugly and the Reign of Terror ensued, suddenly the Republican revolutionaries weren’t having any of the Vendéans Catholicism and general political grumblings.  Their response?  Kill ‘em! Yes, Robespierre ordered the mass slaughter of the population of Vendée, which, ironically, included both Royalists and Republicans.  And so one day a rather large, rather mean group of Republican fighters showed up and started killing people indiscriminately.  The Vendéan people weren’t really having this, they started fighting back and a small war broke out in what is now known as the Vendée Militaire.  Among other atrocities, pregnant women were bayoneted through the womb and people were skinned alive with their flesh taken to tanneries for experimentation (a little Nazi foreshadowing, anyone?).  Now, over a century later, the residents of the Vendée are still pretty unhappy about the whole affair, and who can blame them?  Especially since it took the government that whole century and then some to admit that this actually happened.  In response, the Vendéans have built a theme park comprised of a series of live shows to reenact the horrors of the Vendée militaire and keep the memory alive of the thousands slaughtered.  And while this sounds odd, their shows have gained world renown for the little part of French history that nobody really likes to talk about.  

Below is the church that houses the grave of Bonchamps, on of the local nobles who became a Royalist war hero.  He is remembered for having pardoned a half dozen or so Republican POWs.  Not wanting to perpetuate the turmoil of the war and from a general desire to express a Christian grace, he ordered the POWs be released. Unfortunately they returned a few weeks later with some friends and killed some more Royalists.  Some thanks.

In the church above resides the grave and memorial of Bonchamps, pictured below. 
A church in the Vendee where Republicans locked up about 100 Vendeans and set the building on fire.  Naturally, this isn't the original church, but a restored one on the same site that stands as a memorial with the names of the dead carved on the walls.   
A picture from the Vendee, near another memorial, despite it's dark past, it's a very pretty region of France.

Frietmuseum

INT - Frietmusuem, DAY.

FIONA FRY meets PETER POTATO, it's love at first sight.

FIONA

Hey Peter, tell me something about your family.

PETER

Oh my goodness Fiona, what a question! My family comes from far away. A very, very long time ago we lived in Peru.

FIONA

And do you come from a large family?

PETER

Well... if I remember rightly, my grandfather always told me that we were more than four thousand.

FIONA (flirtatiously)

And how did you come to arrive in Europe?

PETER

That's a long story. First of all, my great, great grandparents went to Chile.  There they married the local potatoes.  And their children jumped into a Spanish boat and arrived in Spain via the Canary Islands.

FIONA

Know what Peter? I take my bath in beef and horse fat.  And I even wash twice. I take a first dive, wipe myself dry and take a second dive.  Then I come out brown all over, as though I've been on holiday. 

I kid you not.  If you squint, you can read it for yourself.  

And what ever happened to the two potato-y lovers?  Well, Fiona warned us not to go into private rooms, but she was happy to point out the restrooms.  Then, together, Fiona and Peter pointed us toward the restaurant where we promptly consumed Fiona's relatives.  But as to Fiona and Peter themselves?  Well, turns out Fiona was kind of a tease at first, but Peter won her over with his patience and persistence.  They married, had two children (a fry and a potato), and lived happily ever after.  

The end.  

Belgium, take 2

Two weekends ago was another Belgian adventure, this time it was just Isabel and I and we hit up both Bruxelles (Brussels) and Bruges.  We left Wednesday and stayed with her grandmother for the weekend, returning Sunday evening.  Brief summary (announcing my plan if you will…oh dear, this is evidence I’ve been in Langue class too long): Thursday, we explored Brussels; Friday, Bruges; Saturday and Sunday we spent with Isabel’s family.

 

Thursday, Brussels

Isabel’s grandmother gave us a map and a plan.  She pointed out the major sights, explained why they were significant, and showed us the most efficient way to travel between them.  Before I go any farther, I’d like to point out one of the secret qualities of Belgians that nobody ever talks about: they’re really efficient.  I’ve noticed in all of the museums, train stations, sidewalks, and metros, there are always signs and arrows directing you exactly where to walk so that you can get somewhere in the shortest amount of time.  They are placed at perfect distances; the minute you aren’t quite sure if you’re still going the right direction, there’s a sign with the distance to the sight listed, and often also a large map.  What more, the design of everything in Brussels, both the public and private buildings, is sleek, efficient, and modern, but while maintaining a traditional European flair so that there’s a comfortable, hip uniformity. (I apologize, it didn't really occur to me to take a picture) Basically Belgium is a very nice country with its efficient design, its royalty, its waffles, its beer, its chocolate, and its fries.  If only the constant threat of governmental collapse would subside, it would be rather idyllic. 

 

Yes, while another lovely aspect to Belgium is its multiculturalism, the Flemish Belgians and the French Belgians aren’t exactly palsy, but they’re working on it… sort of.  Let’s just say that Isabel’s grandmother advised that that since Bruges is in the Flemish part of Belgium, we would be better off speaking English than French. Not that we would be in danger speaking French in Bruges, but we would be treated much better as English speakers, go figure.  However, Brussels is divided pretty evenly between the French and the Flemish and they get along well enough in Brussels, so we spoke French in Belgium, which worked out nicely because we were treated a little better than the tourists who didn’t speak French or Flemish, which is to say, shopkeepers and museum workers were chattier.  However, in Belgium, one doesn’t find nearly as much hostility as in, say Paris, toward visitors who don’t make an effort to speak the native language.  However, I would imagine this is at least partly due to the presence of the European Parliament, which conducts the bulk of its business in English and has taken pains to accommodate the native tongues of all member countries. 

 

Anyway, back to Brussels.  We only followed Isabel’s grandmother’s plan loosely, but we made it to the two biggest attractions in Belgium, Grand-Place (Grote Markt in Flemish) and Mannekin Pis.  The former is the central market square of Brussels and home to beautiful, old Belgian architecture, museums, and guild houses, and Town Hall.  The latter is the statue of a peeing boy.

Town Hall, Grand-Place

 

Grand-Place

Me and Mannekin Pis

Yes, one of the great sights to see in Belgium, one of its greatest draws is a tiny fountain that portrays a little boy relieving himself.  They dress him up on holidays.  I don’t pretend to understand, I just take pictures.  No, but really, the statue was erected many years ago by a wealthy Belgian man who thought he had lost his son.  He searched high and low for the missing boy to no avail.  Just when he thought all hope was lost, someone found the boy one day, down a small street taking a leak against a wall.  The father was so happy to have found his son that he commissioned a work of art to commemorate the occasion.  And thus we have Mannekin Pis, or roughly, peeing model. 

 

After Mannekin Pis, we headed back to Grand-Place for a quick tour of the Brewers’ House.  A quick tour indeed, it was only three rooms.  The first room was a very small bar that doubled as a ticket counter, the second room was a small, restored brasserie, or brewery, from the end of the 17^th century, and the third room was a larger circular room with a few machines from a modern brewery on the outskirts with a screen at the head of the room showing a long film about the history of the beer, the gist of which was that monks are really good at making beer. 

 

After that, we made our way to the Museum of Costume and Lace (Musée du Costume et de la Dentelle). It was much more satisfying than the Brewer’s House, which felt like paying money to watch a special that probably runs on public television.  Plus it had another thing Belgium is secretly known for, lace.  Granted, we didn’t see half so much lace as we did costume; the museum was exhibiting a retrospective of women’s fashion in Belgium from 1958.  Essentially it was a series of rooms of pretty dresses, hats, and fans from the late 50s, and a whole lot of fun to walk through, especially since there was hardly anyone there to mind that I was singing American standards the whole time. 

 

We rounded out the day with waffles and fries (ie lunch) and a walk though Parc du Bruxelles, one of the biggest park’s in Belgium, the edge of which took us past the royal residence.  Then we headed back to Isabel’s grandmother’s where we ate a real meal and went to bed, tired from a long day. 

 

Friday, Bruges

If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend the movie In Bruges.  It definitely got me pumped for going to Bruges, although I would have been happy to go anyway.  It’s a pretty little town with some of the oldest architecture in Belgium and an extensive canal system that yields (poor) comparisons to Venice (that is, people say Bruges is the Venice of Belgium… to that I say, the canals in Bruges are very nice, but they’ve got nothing on Venice).  It’s a little touristy, yes, but it’s also quite beautiful.

One thing that the film In Bruges gave me was an unshakable, childlike excitement anytime I walked through Markt (Bruges’ equivalent of Grand-Place) and past the bell tower (if you haven’t seen the movie, I refuse to spoil it by explaining the significance of the bell tower).  I probably giggled excessively, especially for someone who grew up in Studio City. 

(“Mommy, mommy, it looks just like the one in the movie!”)

 

Arriving in Bruges Isabel and I first followed some signs and walked around, making our way to the Lovers Water where we were struck by the natural and overwhelming beauty of Bruges.   We decided it was aptly named because it seems like a place that would be very conducive to that I’m-in-love-and-everything-is-wonderful sort of feeling, so much so that Isabel felt the need to point out several times that it was too bad that I was me and not a beautiful man friend.  Tant pis, I’m perfectly happy being me thank you very much. 

 

We also wandered into a béguinage, or Beguine convent, the grounds of which were open to the public.  It was quiet and peaceful, that is, until the tour groups came through with their matching t-shirts, high flags, and chatty tour directors.  That was odd.

 

Next we took a boat tour of Bruges via the canal system.  Luckily, we just happened to catch the last open tour of the day, from there on out the tours were only reserved for the large tour groups we had encountered earlier.  The boat tour was lovely; our driver explained everything four times, giving tour information in Flemish, then repeating himself in French, English, and Spanish.  He was kind of a champ in that regard. 

The champ

 

Another boat on the canal

A hotel and restaurant on the edge of a canal

After the boat, we were getting hungry for lunch.  And we were in Belgium.  The only logical solution? The fry museum!  But why stop there?

If we buy them all together, we can get a discount for going to all three of the big museums in Bruges, the fry museum, the chocolate museum, and the lamp museum.

Our response? Pourquoi pas?   

 

And so we started at the fry museum, or Frietmuseum: From potato to chip.  Simultaneously inane and glorious, the fry museum engaged in a little false advertising because we had to pay for the fries at the end of our tour that we had hoped to get for free.  And yes, that was Friday’s lunch.  Unless you’re a potato enthusiast, you’re not missing a whole lot if you skip the fry museum, although each room had, among other panels of information, a story geared toward children that followed two potato characters from room to room.  This was the glorious part of the museum, so glorious in fact, that words will not suffice, I will have to show you.  However, it might take a few pictures, so I'll give it it's own post. 

  Next up, we hit up the chocolate museum and the lamp museum.  They’re housed in the same building, so when we showed up at the ticket counter, we were given passes for both and could visit them in either order.  The chocolate museum seemed busy so we tried the lamp museum first.

 

The lamp museum, or Lumina Domestica was… interesting.  We first had to slip plastic passes into a slot and go through a turnstile which led us to a brief introduction/explanation of the museum and to a set of stairs to start the tour. The intro explained how the proprietor of the lamps housed in the museum started his (or her?) lamp collection at a young age upon receiving an exotic lamp as a souvenir from a father who traveled far and wide for business.  The lamp collection subsequently became, shall we say, obsessive.  The museum tour began up a flight of stairs where a glowing, color-changing genie spoke to us in French of the wonders of light.  Next we were guided into a dark room that suddenly lit up to the sound of thunder.  Isabel and I both jumped about a foot in the air and screamed the first time this happened because, to add to the tension that the exhibit sought to create, we were the only ones in the whole lamp museum.  We were so shaken up that we stood there hugging each other for about a minute at which point the lights went out and it happened again. 

We jumped the second time too.   

 

Then we moved through the rest of the museum cautiously, but quickly.  And while it was pretty cool to see all the ancient ways people harnessed fire and oil for light, the collection was actually obsessive, rooms and rooms and rooms of lamps that looked virtually identical and not another person in sight.  I’m sure the proprietor was very well intentioned, but it came across as a little creepy.  ESPECIALLY when I tried to take a picture to capture the fact that this person has SO MANY ROOMS FULL OF SO MANY LAMPS and I had accidentally left the flash on; when I went to take the picture the flash went off and INSTANTANEOUSLY all the lights went off and we were left in near darkness. 

We left pretty quickly. 

 

Then we made our way to the chocolate museum or Choco-Story which will forever and always remind me of Thomas Gerkin who insists on calling all things chocolatey “choco.”  This museum was decidedly more conventional and full of people, hence little to no creep factor.  It was much more about chocolate and its history than the chocolate museum in Barcelona had been, although this one also had displays of statues made of chocolate.  Unfortunately, it was raining outside and everyone had decided that it was therefore a good idea to go this particular museum and it was pretty crowded.  It was reasonably interesting, but at this point Isabel and I were both suffering from an acute case of museum fatigue and didn’t stay very long.  After a bit of wandering in the rain, some window shopping, and nearly getting turned around several times we ran to the train station and just barely caught the 4pm train back to Brussels, which put us back at Isabel’s grandmother’s just in time for dinner.

 

Saturday, Sunday, Brussels

We spent the weekend with Isabel’s family.  Saturday we went to the local market and ate more waffles (if you get them hot and fresh, mmm, so good).  Then we went with Isabel’s grandmother and two of her cousins to a centennial celebration of the local neighborhood and culture.  It was a small fair and a good bit of fun: old games, old costumes and dance, and restored trams.  That evening we went to Isabel’s uncle’s home for dinner which was excellent.  He makes his own apple juice, which is delicious, and he has a farm so we got to play with baby goats and chicks (cuuuuute).  Then Sunday we visited Isabel’s aunt for coffee and cake. She has a new kitten so the weekend was full of adorable baby animals. 

After that we went home, which would have been uneventful if I hadn’t left my wallet in Angers which had my Carte 12-25.  The Carte 12-25 is the best thing about the SNCF, the organization that runs the French train system.  The card gets you major discounts on train tickets if you are between the ages of 12 and 25. Unfortunately for me, you have to carry the card with you when you travel and present it, along with your ticket to the ticket checkers.  I got a fine for not carrying my card, but I paid it and that was over with.  Also, the train stopped once or twice on the tracks and we just sat there without explanation for some time, so we got back to Angers over an hour after we were scheduled to.  But aside from my frustration with the SNCF (which will be explained in more detail soon), it was a very nice trip.  

Easter at the Vatican

By special request, I present the Vatican, at Easter:

St. Peter's Basilica

Easter Sunday, crowd assembles

The feisty nun in the grey habit will soon be standing on her chair, waving her arms, yelling into her cell phone.  Also, note the television monitor below the statue, an odd juxtaposition.

Crowd gathers, looking around, music in the distance, what can it be?

Oh snap! It's the Vatican band, take a picture!

Naturally, the band didn't cause half so much ruckus as when this guy entered the scene:

It's the pope!  

This is the best picture I could get of Pope Benedict, it's from the papal address after mass, so he's up on his papal balcony.  I made have said this before, but the Filipina nuns took the prize (or would have, if there'd been a prize) for loudest response when the pope made gave his linguistic shout-outs (although the Germans and the Polish weren't far behind)

Mass was probably about an hour an a half and each reading and song was in a different language, they covered Latin, English, German, Spanish, and French...and a few others I believe

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Paris, il y a deux semaines

So first on the list, Paris.  Two Saturdays ago, Isabel and I went to Paris for the day.  And no, THIS time we didn’t do laundry.  We got up early and caught the 8am train and even though we got distracted in Paris' Gare du Midi looking for brunch for the better part of an hour, we still made it to the Musée d’Orsay by 11.  The line outside of the museum was long, so it took us a while to get in, but it was definitely worth it.  Plus, once inside, there were a lot of people walking around, but it didn’t feel crowded.  The Musée d’Orsay was originally a train station before it was a museum, so it looks pretty cool inside. The whole reason we went to Paris that day was to go the Musée d’Orsay.  Before we went back to Angers, we explored Paris a bit, wandered through the Tuileries Garden, saw the Louvre (didn’t have time to go inside), but the highlight of the day was definitely the Musée d’Orsay.  I feel quite scandalous spending a semester studying in France without making it to the Louvre, but without realizing it, I ran out of time, so I had to make the choice Saturday between the Louvre and d’Orsay.  I chose d’Orsay because it’s home to most of the works I’ve studied this semester in art history class. 

Some highlights (there were many):

First up, a master of Impressionism, your cool breeze on a hot day, your warm blanket and a friendly hug, the one, the only, CLAAAUUUDE MONEEET [insert announcer voice] with one of many of his paintings entitled "Femme avec un parasol":    

Next up, the man you tried to classify (you art historians, you), but falling between movements and being a general badass, he defied the odds and remains inclassable.  The man you know and love, but sometimes mix up with Monet anyway, EDOUARD MANET and "Le balcon":

Up next, a jack of all trades, a painter, a sculptor, a printmaker, and an ardent lover of all things dancing.  You may know him as a founder of Impressionism, but he refused to be known as an Impressionist.  Far too interested in composition, he is slowly earning his own place in history as an artiste inclassable.  A painting that's surprisingly small in person, here's EDGAR DEGAS with "L'orchestre de l'opera": 

Born to a wealthy family and crippled at a young age, this next artist frequented Paris' famed Red Light District at the end of the 19th century and became well known as part of a famed circle of misfits and outcasts that included Oscar Wilde.  You may know him from such films as Moulin Rouge, but he will be remembered for his numerous sketches on cardboard. Here's HENRI DE TOULOUSE-LAUTREC with "Jane Avril dansant":

Named for the brother who died a year to the day before his birth, this troubled artist needs little introduction.  A difficult roommate (ask Gauguin), but an incredible painter, here, one night only, all the way from the Netherlands, it's VINCENT VAN GOGH: 

And now, a painter so revolutionary, he shattered historical perspective for generations.  An intellectual painter, he gave us theories of color and shape, and taught us all that painting can be more than the search for beauty.  You know him for his nature morts (still life), you know him for that tissu blanc, here tonight to round out the 19th century, ladies and gentlemen, PAUL CEZANNNNNNNNNE:

and here's what we have to look forward to

This post is as much for my own purposes (eh, probably more so) than anyone else's, but here are the big things i still have to catch up on:

1. Paris again
2. Belgium

...Well that was a short list...

I'll try to get some picutres up, maybe take a look back at Rome, Normandy, we'll see, if there's anything you want to see, know more about, whatever, please let me know.

I'm headed to Vendée this weekend, the military sight for a tiny little French war that happened way back when, around the French Revolution I believe.

Also, this coming Wednesday, I'm headed to the Cannes Film Festival! The festival itself just started, I'll be catching the end of it.

... and continued some more

Anyways, after the London Zoo, I wandered London in the rain with my friend John and talked about life. It was a very nice way to spend an afternoon. We went though Regent's Park again, around the West End, got a little turned around near Baker's Street, and then across London and through Hyde Park. It was quite a walk, but a great way to see the city. That night a large group of us went to a nearby Greek restaurant, I forget the name, but it was delicious.

Saturday, Isabel, Carly, and I went to Camden Market. Carly, who was studying in London, had been there before and took as around. It was a great place to get cheap, interesting clothes, although I didn't end up buy anything. It's also an excellent place for people watching. And building watching, if you're into that. There's a strong punk and goth influence in the neighborhood and especially at the market, but not in an exclusive or disconcerting way at all. It's just a fun market with chatty, flirtatious salespeople and some of the craziest shoes I've ever seen in my life. Heels with zippers, buttons, and neon paint, boots in every shape, size and color. Maybe I should have taken pictures, but it wasn't the kind of place where I felt comfortable looking like a tourist. Not that I ever feel comfortable looking like a tourist, but sometimes its just more acceptable. This wasn't one of those times.

After Camden, we swung by a cupcake shop and then met some friends for a ride on the London Eye. And that was our day. Here are some pictures from the London Eye.

The view on the way up:

And the view on the way back down:

London continued

Sorry for the lack of posts lately, I've been either out of town or swamped with homework the last two weeks.

Anyway, back to London. Friday, I went to the London Zoo. Why travel all the way to London just to go to the zoo you ask? I asked myself the same question.

Reason 1: Opened in 1828, the Zoological Society of London's London Zoo is the oldest scientific zoo in the world.

Reason 2: The cost of ticket was subsidized by Notre Dame's London Program.

Reason 3: ... All my friends were going.

And so I went to zoo.

Highlights:

The walk there took us past the University of Westminster, formerly the Polytechnic of Central London or Regent Street Polytechnic, where Roger Waters, Rick Wright, and Nick Mason met as architecture students and formed the band that would later become Pink Floyd.

The walk also took us through Regent's Park, one of the Royal Parks of London. It was gorgeous. I saw a pink pram near some purple flowers and attempted to document this as subtly as possible, the results are as follows:

One we got to the zoo, one of my favorite exhibits was a large, inflatable tent that housed moths and butterflies. The entrance was a series of, for lack of a better word, drapes, very much like those of a car wash, except these were primarily plastic. The interior was very humid and full of flowers, small children, parents, moths, and butterflies. The moths and butterflies were everywhere, in the air, on the flowers, on the walls, it was very pretty.

I found this butterfly especially interesting because its wings were largely transparent:

And this moth, because it looked dead in person, but it wasn't, or so the sign next to it claimed:

My other favorite exhibit was the BUG HOUSE. It was pretty great. It also housed fish. And yet it was called the bug house. There was an ant display with ropes between various encaged ant colonies. Here are the ants, on the ropes, all out in the open, going about their business:

Look! Ants!