This weekend Remo and I went to the Italian part of Switzerland. After a freezing (literally) week in Luzern, the sunshine went straight through my skin to my soul. Hopefully between my explanation of the setting and numerous photos, you'll feel like you got to tag along too!

Why the Italian part of Switzerland isn't actually Italy:

1. The buses and trains are on time.

2. The Swiss flag is flying everywhere.

3. Shops only close for an hour at lunch time.

4. Everyone speaks 4 languages. ( Servers first speak in Italian, then hear Remo's accent and switch to German, then hear us talking together and switch to English, then hear me babbling some anecdote about Yves in French and switch to French. By the end of just a short weekend, I was saying things like, Buongiorno, je voudrais un cafe creme, bitte. I found this incredible amusing, but all the Swiss act quite blase.)

Ok, photo tour!

Last year in France, one of the things I missed most was the change of seasons. Located east of the icy Atlantic and south of the English Channel, Nantes has about the same weather patterns as London. When we were little, my sister and I had coordinating (not matching mind you, there's a big difference between matching and coordinating when you're 9 and 4) mauve and purple London Fog jackets. "Nantes Fog" certainly doesn't have the same lovely assonance and isn't backed by the same inveterate stereotype, but you get the picture.

A significant portion of the city was destroyed during Allied air raids in World War II. The once-ornate buildings were reconstructed in a more ascetic fashion. They are almost all grey. The sidewalks are also grey and very narrow (and most likely covered in dog shit, which makes spring especially fragrant). The streets are grey. And, in most of November, December, January and February, the sky is grey. On a bad day in January, I think I suggested living in Nantes was like living in a humid, freezing-cold, grey box filled with poop. Like I said, it was a bad day.

So, that (slightly vulgar, sorry Mom!) rabbit trail all to say that this year I'm welcoming the change in seasons like golden retriever greets its master (or anyone really... Yes Lauren, especially Bailey). After last fall in Nantes, I had mistakenly relegated lovely, apple-filled days to autumn in Michigan. It is true that fall is home to the only cultural tradition we (we Americans, that is :) can proudly claim as ours: Thanksgiving. When separated from the fallacious fable we're told in grade school, it's a holiday worth celebrating. Not only do we gather as families around in-season, North-American food - one of the only instances of true "American" food culture.. check out Barbara Kindsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle - we also have managed to keep the day (mostly) non-consumer based.

This year however, I've come to discover that autumn in fact does not belong to the Mid-West. Here, just as in Holland on crisp Wednesday mornings, the market is spilling over with gourds, apples, pumpkins and - my new favorite - fresh-pressed, unpasteurized apple-pear juice.

Last weekend Remo and I went to Giswill (his home village) to visit his mom and get his bike. On Sunday morning, after a slow breakfast of soft-boiled eggs, bakery bread and blueberry jam (thanks Mom for picking all those berries!!), Remo rode his bike back to Luzern and I stayed with Ida for the afternoon. It was the kind of day where you start out in wool socks and end up in a t-shirt. We decided to go for a walk. Ida grabbed two plastic sacs on the way out of the house and during our walk through pastures, in the forest, along the glacial-blue lake, we gathered black walnuts for munching and rosehip for drying and making tea. (We also ended up with handfuls of these adorable tiny green pinecones and some golden “helicopters” ... anyone know the real name for those? or the trees from which they come??)

Once a friend wrote me and asked - vu my rather transient childhood and, so far, adulthood - when I feel most “at home,” aside from being with family. I thought about the response for a long time. Actually, I still think about it. It’s a very curious question to me (and one that I’ll keep myself from rambling off on here, at least for today). I ended up telling him that I feel most at home when I am lost in laughter with someone. That pure feeling of complicity and connection makes me know that I am in a place, and, more importantly, that I am sharing being in a place with someone.

Perhaps it’s due to the paucity of such kindred folk this year that I’ve come to realize the feeling of connection I have to the seasons. Fall feels like a dear friend come to visit. Up to my elbows in cinnamon and apple peals I feel... at home.

Last night the air was full of wood-smoke and crispness. Leaves scraped across sidewalks. Sheep baaahed and jangled their bells as I walked passed their pastures (Ok, so maybe that last detail is specific to Switzerland...) and I felt snug in the rhythm of the year.

(Is it cheating that I’m writing this from Starbucks with a soy chai-tea latte?)

Here, look how lovely.

But wait, some shameless plugs first! :) My artsy-minded pals from university and I have started a literary journal (we’re currently accepting submissions!) and blog (they are all fabulous writers). You can check it out at www.swsalps.com. Also, I now have my own website where I have posted/will be posting various creative works (mostly poetry) and occasional recipes. So if you’re my mom, or if you still have free time after reading my epic blog posts, you can visit www.briannecarpenter.wordpress.com.

Ok, and now some autumn.

Visiting Verena in Germany.

Fall berries!

Yves and I in our "cool" hats.

Samira and I eating ice cream.

Luzern's famous Tower Bridge.

HUGE wild mushroom Ida claims is edible.

Apple butter time!Gourds galore! (and yummy squash too!)

(A small preface au cas ou... After spending three lovely months at home this summer with my friends and family, I have made my way back to Europe. I’m living in Luzern, Switzerland, working as an au pair (in French! poor kids might end up saying some funny things), dating a Swiss man (Remo, pronounced Ray-mow - otherwise known to some of my confused American friends as: Nemo, Rambo, Ramond, Romeo or Rainbow), learning German, hiking, writing, reading, preparing for the GRE and, most recently, wild mushroom hunting and apple canning.)

Here is my explanation as to why you may think I’ve fallen off the summit of Mt. Pilatus, vanished from the face of the earth or moved to a much more remote country than Switzerland:

I suppose the morning should have been some indication of how the day was going to go. Six-thirty was blue and sunny but by seven I couldn't see the top of Mt. Pilatus anymore as I peaked through the shutters in the living room. When clouds move in from over the mountain, you can bet your Wellies that it's going to rain. I usually get up about 40 minutes before I wake up Yves and Samira so that I'll have enough time to make a peppermint tea, gather enough calm to coax unwilling limbs into sleeves and pants and make (yet again) a convincing argument for breakfast.

I like to wake Samira up first because she still snuggles her way out of dreams whereas Yves balls into a hedgehog, quills out and pointed toward me. This morning she was already awake when I crept into her room and she gave me the biggest smile she could manage with a pacifier in her mouth. I prattled to her in what sounded to me like soothing French (I might just sound ridiculous... Hello hello. It's wonderful the day coming, little heart. How was your sleep? Nice! Lovely!) as I lifted her out of her crib. She lay her head on my should and I felt warm all over. Then I realized that the warmth was strangely localized and had begun running down my leg. Her diaper was bursting with the previous night's too-much iced tea. So, for the first time that day (I hope my English professors reading this delight in my subtle foreshadowing...), I changed clothes and took my second shower.

From that point on, the day was a Wednesday. We all arrived where we needed to be on time. I picked up Yves from kindergarden at noon after I got out of German class. Wednesday is our day to play together all afternoon. And though it makes me feel terrible and makes me fear ever ever being a mother, six straight hours of just the two of us together can get pretty, well, long. While I was making lunch, all of the clouds vanished and I thought, Super! We can go outside and play this afternoon instead of staying cooped up in the apartment. But, after lunch, Yves didn't want to go outside. Certainly not. This is what he said in French.

It ended up being a good call on his part, as shortly after he so vehemently declared his preference it started to pour. The apartment turned cool and grey. Everything gave into sleepiness...except Yves. We stacked stuffed animals in towers, zoomed trains across the floor and built a lego mansion with every single lego he has (many). Wow, we'd been playing for hours and it was almost time for Nicole to get home, to start making dinner, to....not it wasn't. Somehow the grey made time sleepy as well. It was creeping along like a nocturnal animal tossed into an Alaskan summer. Yves and I were both a little bored and stir-crazy, but it had stopped raining so in a most exciting French I said, Let's go outside! Yves declined. I changed my approach. We're going outside! Yves put on one shoe and ran around the apartment shouting and refusing to put on his second shoe. Actually, to be fair he agreed to put on a second shoe and came smirking out with one sneaker and one of his mom's high heels. I ended up manually depositing him straight into his galoshes. Needless to say, we weren't to thrilled with each other as we left the apartment.

We headed across the street to the playground, but what little boy needs soggy wood-chips and a sopping swing when rain has collected in all a sidewalk's dents and crevices? Yves found a mammoth puddle and as he darted through it, gave me the arent-you-going-to-stop-me eye. I, however, thought it was a great idea. I told him he was free to get as wet as he liked as long as he payed attention not to splash the people passing by. He hopped and laughed and dashed and shouted and splashed and flung and slapped and scgoushed. It was delightful. And, not only was it delightful for me, but it brought delight into the days of almost every person who passed. I think we looked at him not necessarily with envy (it was rather chilly to be getting wet) but with a sense rightness, of wonderful contentment that someone was so fully enjoying a moment. I felt like a distant third person narrator beside my tree watching the change brush over peoples' faces as their eyes moved from some point in front of them to Yves' sopping zebra striped shirt. I hope to remember that moments like these hold hands with hours of mounting boredom in a closed house.

I had a few precious hours to myself that evening. I had been planning on leaving the apartment and nesting in a cafe somewhere with my laptop to work on a massive (and overly hopeful/ borderline obsessive) GRE Literuature Subject Test study scheme. But the prospect of perhaps getting wet feet won out and I took to my bedroom instead. I had earbudded myself to Beethoven's 4th was trying to summarize some 18th century epistolary novel I'd never read when my door opened a crack and Yves asked if he could come in. Sure, I said, mentally berating myself for not having gone to some interruption-free zone. But Yves hurled me from regret to guilt in under three seconds: Can we look at the pictures of your family? He crawled into bed beside me and just as I was pulling up the folder, Samira padded in and patted the bed with her dimpled, still-baby hands. I lifted her up and she doughed into my other side. I would point at a face and she would squeal from behind her Nookey Mutter! and Yves would bashfully say, ta mere. Their dad called and Nicole came in with the phone, put her hand over her heart, and said, Sorry, they can't talk right now. They're busy. As she left the room, Samira projectile-vomited right into my lap and my laptop. The screen instantly went dead, Samira started wailing, Yves started crying and I sat in a pool of another woman's child's vomit wondering that such a serene moment could turn catastrophic in an instant. I wanted to cry too. Loneliness would be worse without pictures and email and occasional Skype conversations. And, how much work had I lost? How many half scrawled poems?

But, it was too ridiculous to cry. I ended up in a fit of laugh-sobs after which I showered and, unlike a real mother, left the house to have a glass of wine. I was already thinking about telling the story, about how I would describe this tranquil scene and then say laughingly, Ha ha, but theeeeeeen... In my mind the reality of the "after" had surpassed the reality of the "before." The more I thought about it, the more my inclination to spin the story this way frightened me. Those soft moments, why do we cancel them out? Why is the story about disaster? Why are most stories a person hears in a day about disasters? I don't mean to belittle the truly terrible (a category into which the loss of a replaceable electron device does not fall), but the puddles are just as real as the gray hours in a small space. I'd rather tell of puddles.

So after various rigamaroles with insurance agencies, trans-Atlantic import taxes and blahdiblah, I’m finally re-equipped and back in action. Remo happens to be a software writer so he was able (magically, or so it seemed to me) to save my hard drive and my, er, rams. I’m terribly behind on my study schedule, but I hope to add little updates here and there.

Hope the farmers’ markets are overflowing with decorative gourds where you are....

küessli!

The day after Lauren left (last Wednesday witnessed our very (melo)dramatic parting at the train station), I hopped on a train to Paris to meet up with my friend Julie and her boyfriend Mathieu.  We had a picnic dinner in her tiiiiiiiny Parisian apartment and then got in the car and drove to her parents' house in Normandy for the weekend.  Her parents have spent the last month organizing une rallye: imagine The Amazing Race meets family reunion meets Fourth of July barbeque.  

(side note:  this post might not be too coherent as this is what I'm doing on the side...)

(I think I mentioned in my last post that I'm currently living with one of the teachers I work with - Pascale - and her family.  Pictured above: Ceasar and Zoe who find my computer enormously amusing.)

Anyhow, Julie, Mathieu and I arrived in Normandy a day before the rest of the gang to help prepare a bit.  This was our contribution:

tiramisu (and, not picured, mousse au chocolat) for 40.  (Don't worry, I've got the recipe!)

Both sides of Julie's family came from all over France.  While family members got to stay in hotels and B&B's, we les jeunes set up tents in Julie's back yard.  The next morning formed a massive assembly line and successfully made 120 sandwiches in less than 30 minutes.

After packing up the picnic lunches, we all assembled outside for the start of the scavenger hunt.  Each team of six got a map of the route through the forest, a sheet of photos to reproduce and a set of questionnaires.  I had a blast romping through the forrest, but when it came to the questionnaire (French trivia, French plays on words, French measurements, French history...) I probably should have been on the kids' team.  I didn't even know the answer to the one question intended for me:  What are the names of Obama's daughters?  I could only remember Sasha....evidence I think of how much of a bubble I've been living in this year!

After the scavenger hunt we ate our picnic and then went on a bike/train-track excursion.  The "bikes" have two pedaling seats and four stationary seats and the wheels run along an old train track that meanders through the forrest and crosses bridges over rivers.

And, if that was adventurous enough...

For those of us with more daring spirits, Julie's parents even organized a paragliding outing!  Ever since my dad and I were foiled by the disappearing wind on the coast of Peru a year ago, I've been dying to try it.  Lauren and I were going to go on our vacation in Switzerland as well, but the weather put its foot down again: clouds clouds clouds.  The time the sky was as blue as the Mediterranean and the view below was stunning.  Though Normandy is not the Swiss Alps nor the jagged cliff-lined coast of Lima, this time of year the fields are filled with blooming colza flowers (bright yellow) and dotted here and there with tiny, old villages and churches (especially tiny at 200 meters!).  I thought I would be at least a little afraid, but it was actually one of the most zen experiences of my life, a combination between floating and flying, all you hear is air.  Look how excited I was when I landed!  Ok, well, Blogger is refusing to let me add any more pictures at the moment (Laureeeeeeeeen, I need technical support!)

Anyhow, the weekend was lovely.  Julie's parents were generous beyond belief and, of course, it's always a treat to get to spend quality time with dear friends.  

From here on out I'm barreling toward the end at top speed.  I've gone back to organizing my life with a calendar as there are so many people to see and places to eat.  This weekend I'm heading to Germany to see Verena and then spending the next week in Switzerland, then it's back to Nantes for 5 short days before Paris then the South of France then HOME.

I can't wait to see all your luminous faces and I especially can't wait for hugs.   

Recently one of my least proactive friends reprimanded me (through Lauren on gchat) for how little I update my blog. This is a person who, after accidentally leaving his backpack full of his things at the Grand Rapids airport, refused to call claiming it was lost forever, gone. Needless to say, his teasing hit its mark (well, that and the fact that Lauren included a hyperlink on her post to my "post" so her friends and family could see more pictures) (and, of course, I actually do want to tell you all about my fabulous recent vacation). So, here we go....

Well, I'm going to start by backing up just a tad. When Lauren and I got back at the end of February from our two week winter vacation, we were dreading what a loooooong month March was going to be. We were looking ahead at 5 straight weeks of "work" with no vacation and on top of that, packing up and moving out of our darling apartment. But, March was full of sunshine and the time flew by as we played outside, sat at cafes philosophizing, sat in our windowsills sipping wine. Suddenly the end of the month was upon us, and in the span of a long weekend we packed, cleaned, packed, cleaned, organized, and moved out of our little place and back in with our friend Julie where we started the year (Most Generous Friend Award!!). The next day we left on a two week vacation that turned out to be one of the most beautiful, adventurous, and utterly goofy two weeks I've ever spent!

To start vacation off with a B-A-N-G, Lauren and I and our two Kiwi friends Juliette and Dmitriy went to Euro-Disney where we spent the day frolicking around like little kids and laughing at the goofy translations on some of the rides!!


After Disney, Lauren and I headed to the south of France for a week. Neither of us had ever been and both of us would have kicked ourselves in the seat if we lived in France for the second time without going. We started off by exploring a handful of costal villages around Nice (our base city which is sprawling and, in fact, not very nice) like this one:
And this one:

The beach was actually made of small pebbles that Lauren and I spent almost two hours digging around in collecting sea glass much to the amusement of the other sunbathers and much to the envy of passing children.

After two days bopping around Nice, we boarded a ferry and headed south to the island of Corsica (just north of the Italian island Sardinia). In my imagination, the ferry looked something like the flat 6-car raft that nudges its way across Lake Charlevoix attached to a chain, so needless to say I was rather flabbergasted when we ended up on a this:

If the cruise ship crossing was a surprise, the landscape that awaited me on the island was speach-stealing (hmmm, not actually a phrase we use in the English language??). The island had alp-like snow covered peaks, vineyards, sloping hills and valleys, brightly colored Mediterranean-style villages, jagged chalk cliffs, and cerulean water lapping on white sand beaches. I am still stunned. We arrived in the port town Ajaccio and took the bus early the next morning to the picturesque city of Bonifacio where we spent the next couple of days (including my birthday... which just means that pretty much all birthdays from here on out are going to be pretty anti-climatic).

Here you might think that it can’t possible get any better....but it does!! From Bonifacia, we decided to take a boat trip to a tiny island/nature reserve just off the coast. Normaly the boat drops you off on the island to explore for about an hour, and, if you want, you can wait for the second boat later in the afternoon and spend 5 hours on the island. Because the morning we went was a bit blustery, everyone but us and two friends we’d made at the campsite decided to leave. So, to sum it up, we spent the entire day on a private island scampering over rock formations, peering into tide pools, taking pictures of wild flowers, and swimming in water cold enough to keep a popsicle from melting...


At the end of our stay in Bonifacio, we headed back to Ajaccio for a day and night before returning to mainland France on the ferry/cruise-ship. We were returning with the friends we had made at the campsite (two students: a guy from Columbia and a woman from Brazil) and we were supposed to take the early bus at 6am. But, instead of a bus, a little shuttle thing came and picked us up and then proceeded to drop us off on the side of the road about 10 minutes outside of town promising that a bus would come along to get us in a little while. As a semi-joke, our Columbian friend stuck out his thumb and before we knew it, we were climbing into the van of a half-American half-French wine maker who drove us all to Ajaccio while discussing the differences between French and American wine and wine-making processes. Lauren and I ended up finding his wine in a local food market where we also bought a delicious all-Corsican picnic to have on the “terrace” of our hotel.


During the second week of vacations, things took a turn for the, er, ridiculous. With our Kiwi friends, we rented a chateau (castle) complete with canopy beds, spiral stair cases, and a knight in shining armor.


The castle is in the middle of French farmland, so we spent our days cooking with fresh eggs from the neighbors


playing lawn ball


practicing our archery skills


visiting the French version of Medieval Times (an experience so bizarre that it merits its own blog post)


and of course filming a mocumentary of the history of the castle complete with medieval weapons (hatchet, sword, giant pan, log) and a narrated text translated into English by the previous French owner of the castle with the most hilarious structural and grammatical errors ever. (if you know what’s good for you, you should probably avoid ever bringing this up again in order to avoid sitting through it multiple times while Lauren and I laugh at and explain every inside joke...)

Well, whew, this has gotten unreasonably long... but the vacation was so extraordinary that I feel like even this hasn’t done it justice. It’s hard for me to imagine a better vacation than one that combines stunning landscapes, delicious food, good friends, and of course extreme goofiness!


Now things are starting to wind to a close. Lauren leaves to go back home in just one week and I only have one month left of work (with two three-day weekends and one week off...what is the official benefit again of extending my contract??). I’ve got lots of fun week-end trips planned for May and the first week of June I’m going back to the south of France with some British friends...then it’s back to sweet Michigan for a summer full of friends, family and fun!

Well, the time since I last wrote has been filled with a whirlwind of visits, vacations, and several existential crises. Most of you have probably forgotten that I even have a blog, some of you may miss it (blood relations), but all of you should really be glad that I haven't kept you up to date. In the span of 8 weeks, Lauren and I have gone from moving to South America, to China, to South Korea, to the US, to New Zealand, to India.... and the delicious thing is, we actually believed we had decided For Sure each time. I'll refer you to Lauren's blog so you can hear about her plans from her: www.interestinglyno.blogspot.com (also a useful link since she updates her blog much more frequently than I do and usually adds more pictures!)

So, briefly, here are my plans for the coming year (I still think and write in terms of academic years, so don't be confused :) Originally my contract in France was supposed to be over at the end of April, but my schools asked me to stay for another month to help the students prepare for their oral exams. I'll be leaving France for the US in the beginning of June. Summer plans include: US roadtrip to see friend Allison in Seattle complete with national parks stops and books on tape; numerous weekend trips to Holland to see friends, mentors, professors; some time Up North (for my non-Michiganian followers, that means in the northern part of Michigan, usually in a cabin/cottage on some lake); camping trip with my sis; summer camp with my mom (as volunteers. haha, gotcha!); loads of family time and maybe taking the GRE. I'll be heading back to Europe sometime in August to start a job as an au pair

in Switzerland! 

I'll be living in charming Luzern

surrounded by the Swiss Alps  

(but unfortunately not by the SWS:ALPS)

and just down the street from this guy... 

The family I'm working for is paying for me to take intensive German classes

(This is how excited I am about that.  Also - less obviously perhaps - the picture was taken in Germany)

and they want me to speak only French with their children!

(Look how qualified I am!)

So, there's the whirl-wind tour.  I am looking forward to seeing many of you this summer and catching-up/filling-in in more detail.

Also, I'm hoping to put up pictures (and anecdotes) from mine and Lauren's recent vacation to Poland soon!  But for now, it's getting way past my adult bedtime (10:30-11pm) and I have to teach class for a whole entire hour tomorrow morning, so I had better get my rest ;)

Bisous to all!

Joyeux Noel to all from the sprawling Hampster Cage that is Charles de Gaulle Airport. For some reason, my friend Lisa from Arizona who is coming to visit me for the holidays, got routed through Midwest Winter Wonderland (ie: Detroit). Her plane is indefinitely delayed, so here I sit listening to repeating announcements about unattended luggage getting exploded, getting sniffed by the occasional customs dog accompanied by armed customs agent, and watching frazzled travelers gripe at their even more frazzled children. I'm secretly waiting for John Candy and his polka band to show up and offer me a spot on their private Atlantic Barge (because that's the oceanic equivalent of an unheated van, right??)

Mrs. Mary Elizabeth Kirkpatrick, Mrs. Mary Elizabet Kirkpatrick is kindly invited to got sit the visitor desk gate 3. Mrs. Mary Elizabth Kirkpatrick.

(This lady is apparently no where to be found).

Anyhow, I think I have about 3.4 minutes left on this internet connection. What I really want to say is Merry Christmas to you all! And Happy New Year! Though I do so wish I could be hugging you all in person, I am happy to get the chance to spend Christmas in France. (aaah, getting passed by fatigued soldiers with automatic weapons!! jeeze Louise, France). Hopefully Lisa will be here soon, so we can head off downtown to see all of the fabulous lights lining the Champs Elyesee and of course the twinkling Eiffel Tower. We'll be spending Christmas day in Nantes, and I've successfully gathered all of the people I could find who would have otherwise been alone for Christmas and having them over on the 25th. Then on the 26th we'll be going to my host family's house on the beach for a full day of festive French family fun.

I hope you all cherish being where you are and with whom you are.

Very Merriest,

Brianne