One more tune

It's been a little over three months since my arrival in France. I don't know where November went, it flew by so fast. Yet like many of our study-abroad students I experienced a difficult period during my second month. Once I finally stopped running around Brittany with Béatrice I had to find other things to do on the weekends, and not knowing anyone in Paris my age I found myself suddenly very alone.
It's passed now, once again thanks to the fiddle. I tried different things: swing-dancing on weekends, long walks around Paris, dances at the Mission Bretonne. And then someone turned me onto an Irish jam at a bar called the Quiet Man, in the part of Paris called the "Marais." There in the cramped basement, slow and fast Irish jams take place several times a week. I never thought I would end up doing the Irish thing again, but here I am. As in the US, the musicians are very serious, playing Irish and only Irish, tune after similar tune. But one night at around 2am the jam thinned out and I finally got the names of some of the musicians I was playing with. The other fiddler, Aléxis, admitted to being a fan of American old-time. We played a waltz. Then, a young trumpeter who'd been sitting in the back all evening broke out into blues.

 It just so happens that Béatrice had been visiting that weekend. When I finally looked at my watch it was nearly 3am and the metro had long stopped running. We followed some of our new friends to a bus stop, but while we were waiting Béatrice turned to me. "I don't want to get on a bus. Why don't we walk?" she said, turning to me. I had walked from the Hôtel de Ville to the 16th arrondissement once before and knew it would take us a good 2 hours, but I was feeling good, too, so off we went.

 We made good time following the northern side of the Seine, empty of it's usual tourists, cars, and bicycles. There was a bracing wind which from time to time whipped up fine spits of rain, but overall the weather held. As we reached my apartment around 4:45, the birds were singing and the buttery smell of freshly-baked croissants was wafting out of the corner bakery.

 Eiffel Tower at 4:30am from the Palais Trocadero

 Béatrice on a bridge over the Seine

 Views from the boat ride on the Seine with Béatrice

La Bogue d'Or

Last Saturday I again took the train west to Brittany, this time not to Dinan but to Redon a town of similar size located in southern Brittany. Each year, Redon holds a month-long celebration called the Mois du Marron (Month of the Chestnut) during which all sorts of concerts and festivities are held. Chestnut month ends with La Bogue d'Or (the Golden Husk), which is a music and dance festival held along the port. I had seen the posters advertising the festival last year while teaching in Dinan, but never had the opportunity to go. It was Béatrice who reminded me about the festival this year, so we agreed to go together.

Béatrice arrived Friday evening for the big Fest-Noz being held that weekend. Unfortunately, I couldn't leave until Saturday because of work but as it turned out there was no lack of dancing the rest of the weekend. Béatrice met me at the train station at 2pm and we walked to the center of town where a huge outdoor market was taking place. There were stands selling clothes, crafts, and regional products galore but the best part was the covered market, where food stands gave out samples of their products, many featuring chestnuts as a main ingredient. There were little chestnut pancakes, chestnut bread, boudin noir with chestnuts, pâtés, even chestnut beer. Béatrice and I bought a couple of galette-saucisse (a buckwheat crêpe wrapped around a grilled sausage) and then proceeded to the port.

 

A view of the crowds of people heading towards the end of the port, where tents and music were located.

Redon is located between the rivers Oust to the west and Vilaine to the east, which come together at Redon's southern point. The town's small port is located on the Vilaine, and for the occasion was filled with old-fashioned sailboats with the traditional salmon-colored sails. Sailors traditionally wore similarly-colored vareuses, or stiff cotton work-shirts free of buttons or clasps that could get caught on nets, ropes or lines while fishing. Below you can see some people wearing vareuses in the boat on the left. On the right, a group of Galician women sing traditional songs in high-pitched voices while playing the tambourine. Each year the Festival invites bands from other parts of the world to mix in with the Breton music. This year there was also a Bulgarian band.

Gotta have a figurehead!

 

There were music contests for all ages. Here, a group of 3 little girls, aged maybe 4-9 skillfully leads a dance Sunday evening. They didn't miss a beat. 

Béatrice and I danced all weekend. We had a blast. The tents were so full of people that it was hard to move around. Dancing the polka was the equivalent of a Breton mosh-pit, what with all the couples twirling and hurling into each other. It was heartwarming to be surrounded by so many happy people, though. As much as I hate squishing into a metro at 9am rush-hour in Paris, it was a pleasure to danced, locked arm-in-arm, with so many enthusiastic dancers.

Photo taken by the newspaper "Ouest France".

Breton Break

After working on accounting all week, dashing off to Brittany two weekends-ago was a breath of fresh air. I didn't plan my trip, but relied on the kindness of my dear friend Béatrice, who took me on a couple of lovely walks along the coastline of Saint-Jacut de la Mer and the shores of the river Rance, near Saint-Suliac. We talked, we walked, she drove me to Dinan to visit old friends. It was a fabulous weekend.

I'm headed back this Saturday, this time for the Fête des Marrons, or chestnut festival in the city of Redon. This will be my first time visiting the festival, though I saw the posters for it last fall. I'm most excited for the evening fest-noz (dance) and the concerts and music contests throughout the weekend. I'll bring the fiddle, just in case a jam session walks my way. Béatrice is meeting me there, as she is an avid dancer, too. Then we'll head back to her place to pick up the kids. I'll stay longer this time, since next week is All Saints Day vacation (a week, really), but will be back by Wednesday to tell the tale!

First, a few photos of the region I love so much:

 Walking the coastline of Saint-Jacut

 Barefoot Béatrice, who later took a swim in the ocean. Grey clouds are no obstacle to her.

 Evening time on the Rance. The river is wide here, as it nears the ocean.

Green hills and fields not unlike Oregon... without the Douglas Fir

Settling In

Last week I spent a wild and wonderful weekend in Belgium, visiting my host family. I moved into my new chambre de bonne Friday night, only to leave early the next morning. I still hadn't seen the place in daylight. I signed up online for a carpool (much cheaper than a last-minute train ticket), something I'd done once before and which worked very well the first time. This time, however, I somehow ended up changing cars/drivers twice and ended up in a small 5-seater with 6 people: 3 and 2 kids, who were not exactly well-behaved... 

Anyway, I arrived safe and sound and only a half-hour late. Coraline met me at the Brussels train station and we spent the rest of the day preparing for the house-warming party she and her boyfriend, Rodrigo, were holding that night in their beautiful new apartment. It was a great party. The have the nicest, most intelligent and open-minded friends. Nearly all of them are tri-lingual at least (English, French, Spanish), and many of them speak other languages too. We went to bed around 3am, woke up at 9am, and after a sugery breakfast  featuring nutella and frosted corn flakes the 4 of us (Me, Rod, Coraline, and a friend) took the train to Liège, where Coraline's parents were holding the 10th anniversary party for their non-profit organisation Débrouill'art. Jean-Pierre and Corinne rented a river boat for the occasion, one that is permanently moored at the eastern edge of the river and serves as a café/bar most of the year. The Débrouill'art celebration  included a skit by Coraline's friend Charline, various dance performances by students and professors, and at 8pm a rock concert put on by Jean Pierre and his band. They played hits from Black Sabbath,Green Day, and various other bands, and had a good hour's worth of music prepared. I was so proud. Jean Pierre has become quite a competant drummer. Corinne's belly dancers were lovely as usual. Below you can see Jean-Pierre in the back (the one wearing glasses) playing the drums.

Péniche, or houseboat, on the river Meuse, Liège

Two of Corinne's dancers

 

Jean-Pierre's rock band

By the time we'd packed up and headed home it was nearly midnight. Nevertheless, my host parents got up with me at 5am to take me to my train.  It was exhausting, but I was very happy to be able to take off for the weekend.

Now I'm back in Paris, fully recovered and finally settling in to my new surroundings. I had to spend the whole week cleaning, since the previous occupant wasn't a huge fan of housework and left a ton of things behind. One can collect a lot of stuff in 6 years. I'm not complaining, though. Much of the things, like pots and pans, a printer, bedding, etc. are very useful to me. The rest I can take to be recycled, or re-used at Emmaüs (a Goodwill-like store). I'm also extremely grateful to have been able to move in right away even though Régine and her husband would have probably liked to do some work in it first. 
I am now living in the 16th arrondissement, the neighborhood in Paris most known for its upscale inhabitants. Mostly residential, the 16th arrondisement begins with the Arc the Triomphe to the north, hugs the Seine to the east, is bordered by the woods of Boulogne to the west (where the hippodromes are located), and ends at the Boulevard Périphérique to the south. With quiet, Haussmannian facades, bourgeois ladies walking little dogs, it's one of the calmest (and least active) parts of Paris. Historically, Paris' well-to-do built their houses here because the wind, which  blows from the West throughout most of the year, kept this part of Paris clear of smoke and pollution produced by the many factories in central Paris. Today, Paris is too large to have large factories at its center, but the reputation of the 16th remains despite it's relative distance from central Paris.

It's small, but well-lit, completely equipped and extremely comfortable. I couldn't ask for more.

I now take the metro to work instead of walking, which health-wise is a little too bad. But as winter takes hold and the days become rainy, I would be taking the metro either way. And as metro rides go, mine is quite spectacular. I take the 9 north and change to line 6 at Trocadero, where the metro is still underground. Before it reaches the Seine, however, the rails rise up, giving lovely views of the river the Eiffel tower, and surrounding buildings. The metro continues above ground until the business district of Montparnasse, where I get off and make the 5 minute walk to Reid Hall, where I work. Not too shabby!

Orchids and Aupairs

Once again, we return to the Garden of Luxembourg, one of my favorite subjects in Paris. I happened to wander through it after a heavy Sunday lunch with the Sarah Lawrence Program at the restaurant Parc aux Cerfs. It was a beautiful day, one of the last true days of summer. Paris seemed acutely aware of this, and people flocked to the parks, taking advantage of the sunshine to don their summer clothes before it was too late.
That weekend, I was still in the middle of my apartment search and hadn't planned to do anything else, but a sign advertising a tour of the garden's greenhouses caught my eye. The line didn't look too long, and with three hours to kill before my next apartment visit that evening I figured I had the time.

The greenhouses of the Garden of Luxembourg are open only once a year, during the weekend of the Journées du Patrimoine. They are a very popular visit, as you can see here, but people wait very patiently in line, taking their time to appreciate each individual greenhouse full of flowering plants.

The garden's greenhouses are famous for the orchid collection they house, the largest in Europe I believe. The orchid collection dates to 1838, when the doctor of the emperor of Brasil presented 30 or so species to the Faculté de médecine de Paris, then located south of what is now the Jardin de Luxembourg. This collection grew to include over 1,200 species. When the school of medicine was closed, the Senate agreed to take on the collection, and built a greenhouse specifically for the purpose of housing the plants. Today the collection includes 10,000 pots covering 150 genera, or more than 1,350 different cultivars, hybrids, and species of tropical orchids.

Orchids aren't the only thing contained in the Senate's greenhouses; they also supply the Jardin de Luxembourg's ever-changing flowering plants.

The garden also offers classes in horticulture, for both students and interested gardeners. After the greenhouses was a beautiful display of the different pear and apple varieties grown in the garden. There were many old European varieties and even some American ones whose names I recognized, like "Winter Banana"(1870).

On my way out I stopped to admire the little sailboats floating merrily on the fountain in front of the Senate building. Children wielding long sticks leaned in to reorient their boats towards the center of the pool.
I ended up visiting 2 apartments that evening, one of which I nearly ended up taking, but then I got a message from greataupairs.com, a website I'd signed up with but hadn't really expected to find useful. A woman named Régine Goury was looking to replace her au pair, a young American woman who, after 6 years with the family, had found love and was returning home to the states. The 2 boys, aged 10 and 14 were old enough to take care of themselves and the family was looking not for a full-time au pair, but someone to continue the kids' English lessons. In return, the rent would be free. It sounded like the perfect situation. Not paying rent would be a huge relief financially, and I did have time after work to dedicate to a second job. We arranged to meet that Monday to see if we could work something out.
I met Régine and her two boys, and found them to be perfectly nice. I still had to meet the father and visit the room (still occupied by the current aupair), but feeling somewhat confident about the situation I let the apartment owners I had been in contact with know that I had found something else. That was the hardest part, as they all wanted to know right away whether or not I was going to take their apartment. A week later, the stress was over. I met the father, Vincent, saw the chambre de bonne (maids quarters) that I would soon occupy, and received a contract by email from Régine (she's a lawyer).
I moved my suitcases across Paris Friday, September 28th after returning the keys to the studio in the 13th to Amandine. The previous aupair had left just that afternoon, so the family hadn't yet had the time to clean or even change the sheets, but I didn't care. The next morning I would be heading to Belgium for the weekend to see my beloved host family. All I needed was a bed to sleep in. Besides, I'd brought my own sheets...

Apartment Search

It’s Sunday, and the end of week #3 in Paris. Sounds of traffic from the Sunday market pour through the open window as Amandine’s little Italian coffee maker sizzles on the stove. I’m going to miss this apartment, and the neighborhood it’s in. I’ve realized that what at first seemed like a miniscule living space (236 square feet) is actually a large luxury studio in Paris. It’s true that after living here awhile the spaces have opened up and feel, well, not large, but very comfortable. Or maybe that’s just the effect a crowded city like Paris has on people; any personal space feels like a luxury.

            This weekend in France is the annual Journées du Patrimoine, or “Days of Patrimony” during which governement and private buildings open their doors to the general public. Buildings that are usually off-limits to the public like the Elysée (the president’s quarters),  the Saint-Jacques tower, and the RATP metro station reserved solely for shooting films welcome visitors this weekend. The French  have a lot of pride in their history, and show up by the thousands for this event, standing in line for hours for everything from a tour of the sewers of the 13^th arrondissement to a glimpse of the interior of the French White House.

            I ran all over Paris yesterday. Ironically, none of my visits had to do with the Journées du Patrimoine. I was looking at apartments. The search for apartments has been a long one. First, due to work I wasn’t able to visit apartments right away. I would come home, eat, and spend the evening searching online for possibilities. Then, if I did get a response, I’d make an appointment for the weekend, by which time the owner would have already found someone. I’ve been using the website appartager.com, a site for people renting rooms in houses or looking to share an apartment. Sometimes I call the same day that an announcement shows up on the site, only to be told that it’s already been rented. I knew before that Paris is a big city, but I’m only just starting to realize how bad housing really is here. A studio is out of the question. Rooms here go for about 600 euros a month.

This week I finally got to visit some apartments. I’ve been to 6 so far, the most promising being in the 9^th arrondissement. It’s a great neighborhood, not too far a commute from work and full of exciting shops and cafés. The woman renting the room is a single mom with 2 teenage daughters. Their artistic, slightly disorderly apartment struck me rather un-French, and extremely attractive. The rent is a little high, but for the location and family atmosphere I would gladly move in without hesitation. I won’t find out until Wednesday what they decide, but I have high hopes.

On my way home yesterday evening, as I rolled into “Place d’Italie” the metro station was suddenly filled with hoards of whooping young people. The Technoparade, another annual event, had apparently just finished its rounds in the 13^th arrondissement. Cramming onto my next train with all those people was out of the question, so I fought my way up the steps to the open plaza, where thousands of people were still gathered. There’s a picture below, as well as one from a tour of the university library Sainte-Geneviève, from early last week. Unfortunately, I neglected to bring my camera with me to Marseille last weekend, so I have very little in the way of pictures. I promise to take more from here on out.

 Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève

Techno-Parade crowd

The last couple of weeks have been hard, what with apartment searching, orientation activities, and learning the ropes of my job. I won’t go into it now, though; this post is already plenty long. Today I’m having lunch with my boss and the students from the Sarah Lawrence Program at a nearby traditional French restaurant in the 6^th arrondissement. Then I’ll be visiting one more apartment, home of another single mother with 2 daughters, this time in the east of Paris. It sounds promising.

Sending love from Paris!

Back to Paris

Friday, the end of my first workweek back in Paris. It's been an exhausting week, what with plane flights, lugging my baggage around, and learning the ropes of my new position at Sarah Lawrence, but things are finally settling down. Good thing, too, because Sarah Lawrence's orientation begins this Tuesday. We'll be informing the students about everything from academics to cultural differences during the first couple of days, then on Thursday we'll hop on the train to Marseille to catch some last sunny moments in the south of France.
Sarah Lawrence does a trip to southern France twice a year, once per semester, and each time to a different place (well, I imagine they repeat locations, but they do like to change it up a bit). When I was in the program in 2008/2009 we went to Provence, then Nice, with visits to nearby cities. I've only ever spent about an hour in Marseille, so I am looking forward to this trip. But let me start from the beginning:
I flew into Charles De Gualle airport Monday around 8:00am after a long but uneventful flight. I had planned to drop my bags off at the apartment of my couch-surfing host, an Italian hip-hop/break dance teacher named Sam Hutchy living in the 18eme, but upon turning on my french cell phone I spotted a message from him pleading that I arrive after 11:00 (he's a late sleeper) so went straight to work instead. This turned out to be an excellent choice as it meant I could leave my large bags in my office, and avoid dragging them across town and back. Metros really aren't built for people with luggage; turnstalls just don't accommodate large bags.
At Reid Hall, where I work, Monique welcomed me and showed me my office, then put me straight to work. I didn't mind; I needed something to do to stay awake the first day and adapt to the time-zone change. There are all of three staff members in the Sarah Lawrence in Paris program; me (the "assistant"), Natalie (assistant to the director), and Monique (director of the program). Natalie was away Monday taking care of her 11-month old who's beginning la crêche, the government-funded preschool that allows so many mothers to keep working after having kids. She had my position when I was a student in the program.
By this time I had been up for 20 hours or so, and both the pages I was correcting and the computer screen began to swim. Lunch break didn't help; it just made me yearn to lie down on the off-limits grass of the Garden of Luxembourg, so grabbed my backpack and left early, around 4pm, to find the Sam's apartment. I know, it's not an Italian name. "Sam" is short for "Issam"--his father's moroccan--but he goes by Sam. Sam was kind and perfectly welcoming. His apartment is located right at the food of the beautiful white church in Northern Paris, the Sacré Coeur. We spent the evening watching television music videos. He taught me some hip hop moves, and I a few Irish dance steps before crashing in his spare bed.
Sam was only able to host me one night, so I spent Tuesday night at a hostel in the 5eme (BVJ Quartier Latin) which, though a few euros more expensive than some other hostels, was both well-located and on of the nicest hostels I've ever stayed at in Paris.
Wednesday evening I met Amandine, the young woman renting me her apartment for a month. The apartment is fully furnished and it seems she rents it out to friends and family on a regular basis, but hasn't lived there in several years. Her apartment is in south Paris, 13eme, and aside from the stale cigarette smell it is an extremely comfortable (though expensive) little one-person apartment. Single person apartments and studios are just generally expensive in Paris. I'm paying 850 euros for this one, and it is only 24 square meters (79 square feet), Co-renting is significantly cheaper, though then one has to deal with a roommate. I can't tell you what a relief it is to have a space all to myself for the next month.
The first thing I did upon moving in was to buy a large bunch of basil, 3 heads of garlic and other salad fixings; tastes and smells from home! I couldn't help it.

Pony riders in the Jardin de Luxembourg

Tonight I guiltily bought a bottle of rosé to have with dinner, so cheers! I'll miss you, dear friends and family of the west coast. After such a beautiful summer, it was hard to leave the green Willamette Valley, but I'll be back sometime soon. Already cold winds are sweeping away the summer warmth in Paris and clouds are moving in. Soon I'll be glad for those coats and sweaters brought all the way from the US. Tomorrow I'll visit my dear friend Lidia in Rennes, and come back in time to get a good night's sleep before on Monday. Goodnight!

It's Spring in Brittany

The rain has stopped and the clouds have cleared. Not only are the trees flowering, they're leaving out. Yesterday it was hot! As I walked the 2 miles to and from Lanvallay yesterday I was sweating under my thin shirt and wished I had put on sunscreen before leaving.
The first burst of sunshine ignited spring fever in primary schools. Last Friday I had to expel 5 boys from my class of 2nd-graders before I could teach properly. And it wasn't just me; other teachers I spoke that weekend had had similar behavior problems in their classes. Thank goodness for weekends.

Saturday I went home with Béatrice, a colleague from the primary school La Ruche, to her home in Borseul. It was a fantastic weekend. Béatrice has 4 kids, 2 girls and 2 boys, and her youngest, Gwen, is a hilarious 7-year-old with incredible attitude. Gwen was a boon because, like all little kids, she likes to play so there was never a moment of awkward downtime like there often is when visiting other people's houses. After lunch Béatrice, her 2 girls and I went to the beach near St. Jacut de la Mer and walked along the coast to the ruins of the castle of St. Cast-le-Guildo, an impressive fortress with a great view of the estuary. At low tide, the muddy sands stretch out for miles. Boats in the port lie comically on their sides and the air is filled with the smell of drying mud.
We walked back along the beach and when we reached the spot we had started from we were joined by my neighbors, Vincent and Simon, who Béatrice instantly invited to dinner. After a rousing game of soccer on the sand (with Gwen as goal-keeper) we went back to the house and had savory buckwheat crêpes for dinner and sweet white-flour ones for dessert, accompanied by homemade cider. Very Breton.
At around 10pm Béatrice and I left Simon, Vincent and the kids at home watching "Kung-Fu Panda" and headed to Matignon for a Fest-Noz. My young friends from Dinan were already there, dancing away. It was a smaller crowd than usual because there was another dance in Pleurtuit the same night, but I appreciated having the room to move around. These dances can get pretty suffocating otherwise. There's something magical, though about a mass of people all doing the same steps to the same rhythm, arms linked and moving clock-wise in concentric circles. I've gone out with my neighbors before and found it difficult to stay awake and enjoy myself after about midnight, much to the annoyance of Vincent, who likes to go to the night club/bar and not come back until 6 or 7am the next morning. But at a Fest-Noz I can dance 'til 2am without a wink of boredom or fatigue... Which is exactly what we did.
The next day Béatrice took me to visit some more ruins before taking me back to Dinan. I turned in early, knowing that daylight savings meant I had to get up an hour earlier than usual for my first class. This week will be a busy one; tonight I'm giving a presentation on the US at the Foyer des Jeunes Travailleurs, Wednesday I'll be rehearsing with Carole and Raphael in Plancoët, Thursday is another trip with Béatrice, and Friday I've agreed to perform some American fiddle tunes for my music class.
Soon it will be Easter vacation (April 7-22), then one more week of classes before my contract is up. Then it will be one more month in Dinan, a visit from the parents, followed by a flight home to Oregon on the first or second week of June.
Until then, I'll be sending best wishes and sunshine to you all!

Just A Fiddlin' Around This Town

Well, it may be February 4th already, but hell, I'm going to write about January.
Only yesterday did the last of the Christmas lights come down from the trees in town. They were spectacular. I've attached a few photos. The lights paired with the colorful, half-timbered houses made Dinan really magical to walk through at night. And seeing as nightfall comes so early in December and January, I saw the lights quite often.

January is the month of store sales, closed cafés, and Kings Cake.  Many restaurants, cafés, and stores close during January and February because there is so little business after the holidays. Most stores prefer to stay open, however, to put all of their old merchandise on sale for the month of January. I believe it is the law in France that January and July are the only months when stores are allowed to advertise sales.
France is a very Catholic country, and Epiphany is taken very seriously. Once January 6th rolls around, every store and Boulangerie in the country brings out the butter, puff pastry and almond paste to make "galette des rois," or Kings Cake. To Americans like me, King's Cake looks more like a pie than a cake. It's a delicious, flat and golden circle of puff pastry traditionally filled with frangipane and one "fêve" (bean) that, should it happen to be in your slice, designates you king for the rest of the day. The "bean" of today is most commonly a ceramic figurine that can be anything from a biblical figure to a Disney character. Each cake comes ready with it's own paper crown. I've been "king" 5 times! I think it's a sign... probably that I've been eating too much pastry. But during the month of January, a kings cake showed up at every event I went to. The holiday is of course beloved of children, so every school has a day where they serve kings cake. Though they might say otherwise, adults clearly enjoy the holiday just as much. Cake showed up at my music lesson, at dances, at meetings, everywhere. It's a reason to invite people to tea, to get together with friends, and have dessert more than once a day. For those who dislike frangipane, the cake also comes in applesauce and pear/chocolate versions, but if you ask me, the frangipane is really the best.

 Galette des Rois

 

Fiddle workshop with Jean-Luc Revault. The fiddles are laying in the center so that we could dance with our hands free.

 

 Fiddle workshop with Olivier Pont

 Olivier showing off a renaissance instrument

 I made a new friend, an English lady who happened to know some Irish and American fiddle tunes.

The fiddling pictures up above are from la fête du violon at the school of music in Dinan. It consisted of a weekend of workshops on traditional and renaissance fiddle playing, followed the next week by a concert and dance. I took the traditional music track, taught by Jean-luc Revault and Olivier Pont, maker of stringed instruments dating to the renaissance and beyond. Olivier's wife, Nelly Poidevin, plays the stand-up bass and is an archetière, or maker of historical bows. Jean-luc is the teacher of my weekly fiddle class, so I was already acquainted with his teaching style. It was a pleasure to get to know Olivier, though.

Jean-luc Revault

Last Thursday I went to Folk Night at a bar/hotel called the Cheval Blanc in the town of Plancoët. It's a monthly gathering, catering mostly to an Anglaphone audience, but the music is anything from old French songs to Irish balads to German folk pop. The owner, Micheàl, is a really sweet Irishman. Folk Night itself is run by a lovely man named Peter, who is an excellent singer and musician, and brings out the best of everyone who participates in the open mic.

 Me playing "Your Cheetin' Heart" with Peter in Plancoët

Me singing "Old Time Drunkard"

That same weekend was the fête du violon at a museum just outside of Rennes. No workshops this time, but There were a bunch of great fiddlers leading dances under a tent outside, and an interesting display of old violins that came frome someone's personal collection. At the end of the day, I performed a bunch of tunes with the rest of the people from my class in Dinan. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was a lot of fun.

 Jean-luc playing a fiddle made out of a cookie tin

 Dancin' to the fiddle.

Well, that's it for this month's post. Believe it or not, I'll be on vacation at the end of next week. French schools go much later than American ones, but they have more vacations spread throughout the year. I'm taking full advantage of the break to head down south to Nîce, a city on the Mediterranean to catch a few more degrees an possibly even some rays of sunshine. I'll post pictures at the end of February.

Until then, warm wishes to you all from France!