The Village of the Martyrs

The atrocities the Nazis committed are legendary, but most of the attention falls on the Holocaust, and rightly so.

One of the atrocities committed by the SS in World War II is almost never spoken of in the United States, but it is something that is still taught in French schools, and it is but one example of many where the Third Reich took out its anger on civilians.

In 1944, near the town of Limoges in Limousin, French Resistance fighters killed an SS officer and captured another. As the D-Day landings in Normandy had just taken place, it was a time of hope for the French and panic for the Germans.

Over the following days, the Germans planned their retaliation for the killing of their officer. That retaliation was played out June 10 in the town of Oradour-sur-Glane.
SS soldiers - including some from Alsace, which had been disputed by France and Germany for nearly a century - rounded up almost 700 civilians and murdered them.

The men were shot at various points in the small town, and the women and children were herded into the church where they were machine-gunned and then burned.

The entire town was razed, with every building looted and burned.

When General Charles de Gaulle saw the city and heard of the atrocity committed there, he ordered the city be left as a reminder of what happened. To this day, visitors can walk the dead streets, passing what used to be houses and businesses, many with signs telling the barest details of the former inhabitants.
The streets today have been cleared of rubble, much of that having been done when the dead were removed a few days after the attack.

One of the few survivors wrote in his memoirs that when the Germans rounded them up, everyone thought it was an identity paper check. They were herded to different locations before a grenade going off signaled the Germans to simultaneously open fire.

The whole town is a moving experience. It reminded me somewhat of Pompeii, but even though Pompeii was ruined and its inhabitants died in their masses, there is one key difference - Oradour-sur-Glane was wiped out by people, not a devastating volcanic eruption.

Walking into the church where hundreds lost their lives, it was hard to imagine what kind of 'soldier' could set up a machine gun and mow down women and children.Bullet holes still scar the inside of the walls, and at one spot there is a memorial to those whom the village had lost in the First World War. In place by World War II, it too is perforated by machine gun bullets as the same enemy visited its hatred on the town.The town's cemetery has a memorial to those killed, with gravestones throughout the cemetery bearing images of "our dear martyrs." At the memorial, two coffers hold the last remnants of some of those who were never identified - charred pieces of bone.

Even though I know the history of many of the atrocities committed in World War II, seeing such a stark reminder of what those numbers in history books actually mean was a moving experience.

Walking with the Dead

Below the streets, I walked alone through darkened chambers lined with the bones of the dead. Hollow eye sockets gazed out at me as I passed by skulls that were artfully arranged.

I was deep in the Paris catacombs, having passed the iconic sign letting me know I was entering the realm of the dead.

The experience was at once spooky, fascinating and fun. I was surrounded by thousands of dead Parisians. We’d all walked the same part of the world, but what a different world it must have looked to them.

I looked at a couple of skulls, wondering who they might have belonged to. There’s no way to tell – the catacombs contain the remains of noble and pauper alike, and no one’s bones are marked.

What was the Louvre to these people? To me, it’s the world’s best art museum. To them, it might have been during its time as a royal palace. Were they with the revolutionaries who burned a wing of it? Or were they older? It’s possible they saw the Louvre further back, as a fortress on the Seine to prevent waterborne attack.

They probably walked on the same lawns of the Champs de Mars where I spent so much time, but they were never there to see the Eiffel Tower – built long after they died.

The catacombs themselves were made when workers needed stone to build some of Paris’ magnificent buildings. Not the Haussmann buildings you see today, but the older buildings.

In the late 1700s, the French had a problem: cemeteries in Paris were full to bursting – literally. Occasionally, an overloaded cemetery would, say, burst through a wall, filling a cellar next door with decaying bodies.

It was a public health nightmare.

So the French decided to reinter the remains in the existing catacombs. The process took several decades, and it has left us with one of the world’s macabre tourist attractions.

When I lived in Paris in 2009, the catacombs were closed due to vandalism. They’ve since reopened, but with added security measures.

When I walked out of the catacombs, my camera bag was searched to make sure I hadn’t stolen any bones.

To think someone would steal the bones doesn’t exactly surprise me, but it is disappointing. Walking among the dead, it’s clear that the bones were placed in their current location with some degree of reverence, and priests were on-hand during the relocation as well.

Many of France’s elites may be buried in the Pere Lachaise cemetery, but so many others rest in the catacombs. Rumors of ghosts stalking the corridors are popular, and it’s easy to see why.

To reach the catacombs, take the Metro to the Denfert-Rochereau stop and exit to the street level, where you will see the entrance.

Thanksgiving in France and Switzerland

My Thanksgiving dinner last year was a burnt panini in some crappy truck stop in the middle of nowhere in eastern France.

But I’m not complaining. But really, how hard is it to mess up a panini, much less burn them for 20-odd people?

The reason I was in the middle of nowhere in France was because I was on an hours-long bus ride to Switzerland – where I had one of the best “Thanksgiving” dinners of my life.

I’d never been to Switzerland before, and I would like to say my arrival involved snow-capped mountains, friendly border police and clanging cowbells, but it was a nondescript little town where we made our crossing at 2:30 in the morning.

We checked into Balmer’s Hostel, one of the classic student haunts and backpackers’ hangouts in Interlaken. I was able to comprehend that the curtains reminded me of tablecloths at an Italian restaurant before I passed out on my bed in a room with five of my friends.

The next morning – the day after Thanksgiving – I awoke to one of those fabled perfect Alpine days.

I looked up to the three towering mountains above Interlaken: the Eiger, the Monch and the Jungfrau (Europe’s tallest mountain).

My roommate from Paris and a few of my friends took a bike ride to Thunsee, one of the two “Laken” (lakes) we were “Inter” (between). Along the way we passed glacier water and more majestic scenery.

We later jumped off a cliff without parachutes or bungee cords and were back in Interlaken in time to eat a feast at Balmer’s.

I’ll explain how I hurled myself off an Alpine cliff without dying at some later date.

Walking back into Balmer’s fresh off the adrenaline rush of a four-second freefall arrested by a single rope, my friends and I joined the rest of the students with whome we were studying in Paris and got table assignments.

It’s a tradition at Balmer’s that a Thanksgiving meal is served every year, and as much as I love other cultures’ foods, after two months in France, I was ready for some traditional American food.

And did Balmer’s ever deliver.

We were served heaping portions of turkey with mashed potatoes, gravy, vegetables and even stuffing rolled into a pair of golfball-sized portions.

All of that was capped off with seemingly unlimited bottles of wine (but maybe that was just because some of the female students were shamelessly flirting with our male server so he’d keep them coming.

A few of us guys might have been egging them on...

Once we’d fully stuffed ourselves, drank our wine and eaten our desserts, we headed downstairs to the night club/bar that is under Balmer’s and is one of the few night spots in the town.

Beers were two for $5, and we drank our fill, then we hit the dance floor.

Several hours later, when the club closed and the tryptophan overcame the effects of drink and the endorphins from dancing, we all made our way to our beds.

They’d given us little beer mugs with graphics reading “I had a great time at Balmer’s.” When first handed mine, I thought it was a bit cheesy. Just before the lights went out, however, I glanced at the cup and smiled. Cheesy? Maybe. Dead-on? Yes.

Verdun

Nothing symbolizes the horror and brutality of World War I for the French more than Verdun.

During the 10-month battle in 1916, French losses were estimated at about 400,000 killed, wounded and missing. German losses were less, at about 350,000, though estimates vary.

The soldiers lived like rats in trenches, constantly enduring enemy artillery fire and attacks. Even sending messages was dangerous, as couriers had an extremely short life expectancy. If they weren't killed by enemy artillery, poison gas, sniper fire or bayonets, the soldiers suffered from illnesses, fatigue and what we would today call shell shock.

Despite how horrific a place Verdun was, I still wanted to visit the battlefield. Understanding the French experience in World War I makes it clear why the country fell so fast in World War II, when much of the population thought that living under German occupation would be a far smaller price to pay than another war, since World War I left one in three French men between 17 and 33 dead.

The town itself is easy to find and is relatively close to Nancy. If you are, like me, interested in history, then Verdun is a must. The town has always been a fortress city, and the Germans and French have fought over it several times.

One interesting aspect of Verdun's history revolves around two French soldiers who served there - Charles de Gaulle and Philippe Petain. Petain was considered the hero of Verdun, and he commanded the French forces there for much of the battle. De Gaulle, who was inspired by Petain long before the battle, was captured at Verdun. Petain would later collaborate with the Germans in World War II and be a figurehead for the Vichy French government while de Gaulle would lead the Free French forces during World War II and emerge a hero, famously marching down the main boulevards of Paris when the city was liberated in 1944 before German snipers had been cleared out.

When I arrived in Verdun, it was cloudy, and the recent rain had stopped. After passing through the fortified gate that guards one end of a bridge over the Meuse River, I came to the visitor center, which was unfortunately closed.

A map near the visitor center showed the way to many of the sites, and after looking at statues and memorials in the center of town, I hopped in my car and drove to Fort Vaux, Fort Douaumont and the iconic Ossuaire.

Forts Vaux and Douaumont played key roles in the battle, and both were taken by the Germans, then retaken by the French. Each is worth a post in its own right, so I'll save that for later.

Wandering the battlefield is possible, but signs warn visitors to stay on the paths. Essentially, they all sum up the same thing: The weapons used in 1916 are still in the ground, and they can kill you just as easily today as they could 90 years ago.

What was once a war-torn moonscape dotted with shattered tree stumps is once again peppered with woods. Between the tree trunks, the reminders of the war are still visible - earth cratered from artillery shells, half-filled-in trenches where men used to live and concrete gun positions that have long since had their weapons removed.

Reaching the Ossuaire, in front of which about 15,000 French soldiers are buried, I was struck by the fact that this plays such an important role in French history, and I don't even remember it being mentioned in my history classes in America - and I have a minor in history from a university.

In the National World War One Museum in Kansas City, Missouri, there is a section on Verdun. Two quotes from the combatants stood out to me when I was there.

"Shells of all caliber kept raining in our sector. The trenches had disappeared, filled with earth. The air was unbreathable. Our blinded, wounded, crawling and shouting soldiers kept falling on top of us and died splashing us with their blood. It was living hell." - A French infantryman.

The second quote is from a German soldier at Verdun: "Verdun transformed men's souls. Whoever floundered through this mass full of the shrieking and dying had passed the last frontier of life and thus bore deep within him the leaden memory of a place that lies between life and death."

The soldiers of both sides experienced hell at Verdun, and the huge Ossuaire, though open to the public and containing displays, is the final resting place of some 130,000 soldiers from both sides who were unable to be identified.

A tower rising from the middle of the Ossuaire is styled in the shape of an artillery shell, and on the way to the top, visitors can see mannequins dressed in period uniforms as well as some of the weaponry used.

The top of the tower affords a view of the battlefield that can't be had anywhere else. At the base of the tower, visitors can watch a short film that explains the reason for the war and the battle itself along with the stupidity - and there's really no other word for it - of that particular conflict.

The last place I stopped was at one of the communication trenches. With its moss-covered, rotting timbers still in place, I could just imagine the hundreds of men who must have passed through it. Communication trenches connected the various trench lines and allowed men to move between them without as much risk of being spotted by the enemy. They almost always moved at night, and the only guidance a man had was to stay close to the man in front of him. There were countless instances of units getting lost, then finding themselves on exposed ground at dawn, where alert artillery observers saw them. Within minutes, they would be shelled and killed.

Verdun, or any battlefield, for that matter, is not the place to go if you want to experience the joie de vivre for which France is so famous. If you want to understand France, and especially its role in the 20th century, however, I think Verdun is a place that must be visited, or at least understood.

A soldier killed Nov. 9, 1918.
For him, the armistice came two days too late.

If you're interested about the battle of Verdun, I recommend Alistair Horne's "The Price of Glory: Verdun, 1916." Written in the 1960s, Horne - a British historian - tends to editorialize a little bit, but the book provides a good explanation for the battle without expecting a lot of prior knowledge of the war.

Hundredth Post - My Five Favorites

After 99 previous posts, I have a few I particularly like, so I'll just list them here.

I'm not sure if I like them for the merit of the writing, the subject matter or from remembering the experience, but they stick out to me as my favorites. Click on the bold text for the original article.

Paris Throws a Party
This was my first blog post, and I originally wrote it as an assignment for my column and review writing class in college. I had a habit of procrastinating, and that assignment was no different. I wrote it an hour before it was due in The State Hornet newsroom while the fire alarm was going off over my head and my editor was interviewing me for a copy editing position (no joke). It worked out, since I got an A on the assignment, I got the copy editing job and the school didn't burn down.

Bruges: Belgium's Jewel
In the movie In Bruges, the characters hate this canal city that was the financial capital of Europe in the past. I happen to love it, and I plan on returning. It's tied with Rothenburg ob der Tauber for my favorite small town in the world.

Prague at Dawn
I really enjoyed Prague. It had a special appeal as it was my first trip to a former Communist Bloc country. Wandering around the city by myself an hour before dawn and watching it wake up was a unique experience, and one I hope to replicate the next time I'm in Paris.

A visit to Normandy
Having minored in European history in college, and having been interested in World War II before that, Normandy always held a special fascination with me. Growing up, I never thought I would get the chance to visit the battlefield.

The Mad King's Fairy Tale Castle
Schloss Neuschwanstein is the epitome of a fairy tale castle, and it should be at the top of the list for anyone visiting Germany. Disney based a castle on it, and it has graced thousands of postcards, TV shows and movies. The views from the top of the Alps and the nearby lowlands are fantastic, and a walk across the wood-planked bridge nearby isn't for those with a fear of heights.

Meeting Matisse

Every once in a while, when I'm traveling, I meet someone who simply can't be classified.

That was the case with a German man I ran into in Colmar, France, a week before Christmas in 2008. Colmar's Christmas market was in full swing, and part of that market was a display of various farm animals.

When I saw a man walking a donkey on a leash down the street, I made the assumption that he had been involved with the display.

I was completely wrong.

The donkey was being ornery, as they often are, and the man stopped to pet his muzzle and calm him down. We stopped a few feet away and asked if he spoke English.

His German accent wasn't a surprise, as Colmar is in Alsace and is very close to the German border, but what he told us was surprising.

The donkey was named Matisse - after the French painter - and he wasn't in Colmar as part of the Christmas market.

"I take him to the city because he likes to see the lights," the German said. "He really likes to go on walks."

I kind of thought he was kidding, but he was quite serious.

I've seen men walking elephants through the streets of Jaipur in India, but I had expected that. I never would have guessed that men would just hook a rope up to a donkey's bridle and lead him on a leisurely stroll through a French city.

This particular German - I wish I'd gotten his name - said Matisse was 14. Donkeys live into their 40s, he said, adding that they and their owners develop relationships every bit as meaningful as those between dogs and their owners.

We petted Matisse while the German kept beaming and sharing his experiences, and when Matisse looked at the lights, the German nodded in his direction, as if to say, "See, he loves them."

After my mom and sister posed with Matisse for the photo, the German led him off down the street, and not a single person even gave the odd pair a second glance.

Photo of the Week: Home of the Sun King

This is the home King Louis XIV had built - Versailles. Not far from Paris, I stopped here on the way to Normandy with my family. We had our luggage with us, but didn't think it would be a problem, since there is luggage storage at the palace.

Rolling a suitcase, however, across all those cobblestones not only takes forever and jars your whole arm with each stone after a while, but it is also incredibly loud.

Despite that, the palace was worth it. As were the gardens (which I don't have pictures of, unfortunately).

The Taste of Travel: French Champagne

France considers its wine a national treasure, and the crown jewel of that treasure is champagne. The houses - Bollinger, Krug, Pommery, Taittinger, Veuve Cliquot - are well known to aficionados and many welcome visitors for a look behind the mystique.

By law, only champagne created in the Champagne region of France can bear the name - everything else is merely sparkling wine, and no matter how good, lacks the prestige of the iconic French bubbly. Though you can travel to myriad small champagne vineyards throughout the region, the most accessible place to enjoy a glass of authentic bubbly is in Reims, capital of the Champagne province and a short 45-minute TGV train ride from Paris.

Rich in history and home of the cathedral where France's kings were crowned, Reims has a lot to offer, but for a touch of life in the lap of luxury, two cellar tours top the list. Domaine Pommery and G.H. Mumm are both walking distance from the city center, and the cellar tours give visitors an excellent overview of the process of making world-class champagne along with the history of champagne and the individual companies. Keep in mind, tours of the champagne caves should be booked in advance to ensure a spot in an English-language tour. Each lasts about an hour, with a tasting at the end.

Madame Louise Pommery built the Domaine Pommery Estate ten years after taking over her late husband's champagne business, and she was responsible for creating brut (dry) champagne in 1874. Before that time, champagne was a very sweet drink, generally consumed with dessert. Brut is also lighter and fruitier than the original.

In addition to playing a key role in the history of champagne, Madame Pommery was also a great supporter of the arts, and as you follow your guide down the stairs into the caves, which were originally carved out of the chalk earth 2,000 years ago by Roman slaves, you will see numerous pieces of art spanning a variety of genres.

The caves at the G.H. Mumm Estate, created by Georges Hermann de Mumm, a short distance away are newer, but fill the same function of keeping the 20 - 25 million bottles at a constant 10 to 12 degrees Celsius and 85 percent humidity. Similar in size, both Pommery and G.H. Mumm produce about 5 million bottles each year.

Following your guide through each tour, you will have the process of making champagne explained in depth, from the planting and harvesting of the grapes to the aging process, riddling and removal of sediments and, finally, opening the bottles. Each tour travels past stack after stack of bottles, walls in their own right, frequently pausing at points of interest to talk. Pommery's caves still have labels on the walls of various cities throughout the world - reminiscent of the time when champagne was prepared differently according to a particular region's tastes. Now, however, it follows the same recipe.

Champagnes are blends of wines, and the cellar masters have the ultimate say in which wines will be selected for that year's vintage, giving the champagne its final style. At Pommery, up to 150 different wines are involved in the process.

After blending, the champagne is fermented with yeast and sugar. This is the second fermentation in the champagne process, as the blended wines are each previously fermented. The second fermentation must be aged at least 15 months, but both Pommery and G.H. Mumm age all of their bottles a minimum of 30 months.

The second fermentation leaves sediment of dead yeast, and that must be removed before the bottle is eventually sold. To get the sediment to the neck of the bottle, it subjected to riddling, the careful twisting of the bottle at different angles during the fermentation to allow sediments to collect at the neck of the bottle.

In the past, the sediments were removed by quickly opening the bottle and allowing the pressure to shoot them out before re-corking. That had to be done with skill, to prevent losing too much of the champagne, but still allowing the removal of the sediment. Today, the necks of the bottles are frozen, so the sediment is trapped in a block of ice. The bottles are opened, the frozen sediment is expelled under pressure, and the bottle is re-corked.

At G.H. Mumm, there is a small museum featuring some of the antique tools and devices used in the champagne-making process in the past. Pommery's caves are adorned with objets d'art throughout, but both take tours past their most precious bottles - safely behind protective bars.

On display at Pommery is a bottle of the first vintage of brut and every vintage since. G.H. Mumm has a similar display, with bottles from the current vintage all the way back to the 1800s.

At the end of each tour, there is a tasting. The basic tours include one glass for about €10 per person. Additional glasses of champagne will add to the cost and the experience. Bottles, t-shirts and a number of other souvenirs are available in gift shops at each estate.

Practical Info

Reims can be done as a day trip from Paris if your only goal is to tour champagne caves, but even then, it is best to stay at least one night in the city.

Getting There: The best way to get to Reims is on a direct, highspeed TGV train leaving from Paris Est station. Prices start as low as $20 one way if booked online in advance (http://www.raileurope.co.uk/). A tram is being built in Reims to make transportation within the city even easier, though construction is ongoing.

Reims Info: Online Guide to Reims

Champagne Houses

Domaine Pommery
5 Place General Gourand, +33 (0) 26 61 62 55
E-mail This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it , Website

Tours start at €10

Hours: Easter to mid-November 10am - 5pm daily

G.H. Mumm
34 Rue du Champ de Mars, +33 (0 )326-49-6967
Email This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it , Website

Tours start at €10

Hours: Daily March 1 to October 31, 9am - 11am and 2 - 5pm; other times weekend and holiday afternoons

Taittinger
9 Place Saint Nicaise, Reims Cedex, +33 (0) 326-85-4535, Website

Hours: mid-March to mid-November Daily 9:30am - 1pm, 2pm - 5:30pm; other times Monday - Friday only.

Veuve Clicquot
12 rue du Temple, Reims Cedex, +33 (0) 326-89-5440
Email This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it , Website

Visits by appointment only

Note: This article was originally published on The Savvy Explorer

Keysersberg: Simple Living in the Alsatian Vineyards

Keysersberg barely rates a paragraph in most guide books, but it really is worth a visit.

It's not unlike a host of similar towns in Alsace, and that in itself is the draw for me. Located just a short distance from Colmar on the eastern edge of France, Keysersberg is a quick drive to a place that is largely away from the tourist crowds - at least when I was there in December.

Surrounded by vineyards, Keysersberg is dominated by a ruined castle on a hill. The buildings themselves looked medieval, and I like to think someone transported from 400 years ago would recognize the town.

The first thing I saw when I approached the canal was a rainbow. After taking a few pictures, I walked through the old streets with my family, crossed stone bridges and headed toward the castle, which was flying the Tricolor, giving me the hope that I could climb its tower.

The hill on which the castle stood was blocked by a wall, and I hoped it was possible to reach the ruin. I stepped into a shop and, in my halting French, asked if it was possible to get up to the building. The problem with knowing just enough of a language to ask directions is that it's impossible to understand the response, but after quite a bit of pointing, I got the message.

Two paths actually led up to the castle, and we followed the nearest one as it wound through a copse of trees and past vineyards before finally ending at the castle walls.

Once inside, I immediately headed for the tower, expecting a closed and locked door, but was happily surprised to find it open. It's the kind of thing that would probably never happen in the United States, and I climbed to the top for a great view of Keysersberg and the surrounding lands.


Keysersberg probably won't ever be a tourist attraction like Rothenburg, Germany, simply because there isn't much to do once you're done wandering the handful of streets and seeing the castle, but it's definitely worth a trip if you're looking for small-town charm. I still find it hard to believe that people live in these sorts of places, since they're what you see in fairy tale books when you're growing up, but for the inhabitants of Keysersberg and the many villages like it, it's just life.

The Taste of Travel: French Cuisine

I stared at the menu, trying to decide if I should go for it.

It was dinnertime on what will probably remain the oddest Christmas of my life.

The morning had started in Paris with a breakfast of croissants, baguette and comte Noel cheese in my hotel room on Rue Cler with my family. Following that was a trip to the Arc de Triomphe and a walk down the Champs Elyseés, with stops at the only stores open that day - Peugeot and Mercedes dealerships (which were oddly crowded). A trip to the Pere Lachaise Cemetery followed that, and I had just come from the Sacre Coeur church in Montmartre.

I laughed as I thought about how going to the red light district - our next stop for the evening - would somehow fit in with the mix of things we'd done that day.

I wasn't sure, however, what I should do about dinner. I was holding the tourist menu - a set price for a selection of food that isn't always a deal - and deciding what I would have. The main course was easy. I was going to savor a steak au poivre with French fries. I thought ice cream sounded good for dessert, and a carafe of red wine would accompany the meat well.

It was the starter that was holding me up. I didn't really want a crepe, and French onion soup is...eh. I thought the salad would be good, but it seemed like something I would get at home, and therefore had no appeal to me (something had to make the meal memorable).

I was vaguely aware of the server taking my family's orders, and when he came to me, I ordered the steak, the ice cream and...the escargot.

"Ah, he is the French one!" the server said.

My sister curled her lip, my dad laughed and my mom looked at me with disbelief.

At home, I can be somewhat picky. I really do hate tomatoes if they aren't mashed into oblivion as part of a pizza sauce or diluted by the broth of minestrone soup, I'm mildly allergic to cantaloupe and I typically stay away from bell peppers, ketchup and mustard.

Part of travel, as far as I'm concerned, is trying the foods of other cultures. When I went to India, I had almost no idea what I was eating most of the time, but I ate it all. On a trip to Italy, I tried tripe (before I saw a rather disgusting video on how cow intestines are processed to make that particular dish). Most recently, in Reims, I'd eaten homemade foie gras - despite that I'd sworn I'd never eat a liver, since it's inherently stupid to eat something that filters out all the bad stuff we ingest.

By the time I was starting to have second thoughts, it was too late. Our server set down a pan full of six snails - sans shells - in a garlic, olive oil and pesto sauce.

"Aren't they usually served in their shells?" I asked.

"Oui, but we have a lot of tourists, and they don't always know how to use the fork to get the snail out, and it's bad when they get thrown across the room," the server replied.

It seemed sensible, albeit much less fun.

The server left, I picked up my fork and stared at the slimy little things I'd stepped on so many times in my life. I wondered if I could really bring myself to eat them, but knowing my whole family was watching me, I speared one of them on my fork. The skin gave a little resistance, then the fork slid in easily, the same way it feels when stabbing a sausage.

I rolled the little blob around in the sauce, hoping this would be one of those foods that has no real taste except for what it's dipped in, and brought it to my mouth.

Initially, I wanted to gag, but as I pulled it off the fork, I forced myself not to think about what I was eating. It almost worked. The taste was fine - it was the texture that induced the choking sensation I felt as I swallowed.

I looked over at my mom, told her it didn't taste bad and suggested she try one. The rapid head shaking told me that wasn't going to happen, and my sister looked like she wanted to be somewhere else, so I popped another one in my mouth.

When I swallowed my third snail, I offered one of the three remaining to my dad, who decided he'd give it a go. That made one less that I had to eat, and I secretly wished he'd ask for another, but he didn't, so I ate the last two.

I was left with a pot of olive oil, pesto and garlic, which is perfect for dipping bread in, but when I offered my mom a piece of bread with the sauce on it - something she would never turn down at home - she refused because snails had been in the same pot. My sister was in the same boat, so I ended up eating it all.

The steak au poivre was fantastic, the French fries were what you'd expect, and the ice cream was also delicious. In sticking with the odd theme for the day, the power in the restaurant went out three times during our dinner, and the server told us it was a warning because they hadn't paid their bill. I'm not really inclined to believe him, but he said it so seriously that I thought it just might be true.

In any case, he wasn't the stereotypical rude Parisian waiter (I actually haven't found one). His English was excellent, and he enjoyed poking fun at us in a friendly way. When my mom asked if something on the menu was good, he replied, "No, that one we have had on the shelf for three months, and we're hoping someone buys it."

Having worked in restaurants for seven years, I thought that was a fair answer.

The restaurant, Au Pichet du Tertre, was very good, and is just off the main artists' square in Montmartre. Despite its location, prices were decent, with the tourist menu including a starter, main course and dessert for 12 euros. (The address is 10 Rue Norvins).

Misadventures: Traffic Violations

I admit it. I'm guilty of a slew of traffic violations in France.

I broke at least three laws, and I was only driving for about eight minutes.

It wasn't really dangerous, but I did sort of run a red light, speed and drive the wrong way down a one-way street.

Let me explain.

We had to drop our car off at the Hertz office at the train station in Reims after hours. Normally, this would present no problem at all. The rental office is right in front of the station, and there's a drop box for the keys.

When I was there, however, the whole front of the train station was shut down and appeared to be closed off by construction of a new city tram/train service that will make navigating the city a whole lot easier.

My dad was driving, and my GPS ignored the fact that we couldn't get where it wanted us to go, so we were on our own. We ended up parking the car on the opposite side of the station and walking through it to try to find a route to get the car to the correct parking lot so we didn't get charged with the French equivalent of grand theft auto.

I saw there were two women in the Hertz office, even though it was closed, so I knocked on the door. One said something about being "ferme" (closed), and I proceeded to butcher the French language as I tried to explain our plight with the 16 or so verbs and 100ish words I knew.

Fortunately, she spoke English and told us how we could get to the parking lot, where several taxis were waiting around for a fare.

Walking back to the car, I held my hand out for the keys. My dad gave me a funny look, but it had been a week and a half since I'd driven, and three years since I'd driven in Europe. More importantly, I wanted to be done with dropping the car off and get back to the fun part of the trip.

My dad feels compelled to follow the rules of the road to a T, even while being passed by all the locals. I don't fault him for it. In fact, I think it's probably the best way to travel.

However, if I am ever pulled over and cited by gendarmes, I think it would be funny, and it would probably make a good story.

We piled into our Opel Meriva, which is a normal-sized car but felt cramped with all of our luggage, and I started it up.

I began my vehicular crime spree by speeding. I'm not sure why the French seemed to think that 30 kilometers per hour is a good speed to be driving. The thing is, 30kmph is less than 19mph, and I don't think my German-engineered car made for the autobahn (maybe a stretch there) could even go that slowly. I thought 45kmph (about 28mph) was a more reasonable speed, especially since there was no one on the road.

I reached a larger road with more traffic and saw where I needed to turn. No one was coming, so I turned. My dad and sister started laughing and shouting something about running a red light. I think they were mistaken, but they assure me that I did, in fact, run it.

Whatever.

As I cruised past the construction toward the Hertz office, I had one of two choices. Option One was to follow the arrows, negotiate all the parked taxis and travelers who ignored the crosswalks as they lugged 90-lb suitcases over cobblestones. Option Two was to drive the wrong way down a one-way street for about 60 feet and end up at the Hertz office.

And really, it's not like it was actually a street. It was some nonsense someone had set up with cones. I have the utmost respect for French highway engineers, but I think the guy who set this up was just taking the easy route so he could go grab a glass of wine and a baguette - which is exactly what I wanted to be doing.

I wish I could write that some gendarmes came running out of the train station and I explained to them exactly why I had done what I did before we all went and got drinks and they gave me one of their cool hats, but no one saw me, or no one cared.

I tossed the keys in the drop box and became a pedestrian again.


-A note on the photos: The top photo is the Opel Meriva I was driving, but that photo was taken in Eguisheim, France, about three days earlier. The photo of the two gendarmes was taken in Paris, and I still want one of their hats.

Paris as the seat of the EU Presidency

The European Union has a rotating presidency that changes every six months. Most travelers to Europe probably couldn't care less, but being in Paris while France held the presidency (from July-December, 2008), there were a couple noticeable changes to the city's landmarks.

Far and away the most obvious was the Eiffel Tower. Normally a brownish iron framework lit up at night in standard, yellow-hued lights, the French had decided to use their most famous landmark to advertise their leadership of the EU - by lighting it in blue and affixing a circle of stars to it to represent the EU flag.

I really didn't care for the new look, and I'm happy to say that it is now back to its old self. Had this been my first time to Paris, I wouldn't have felt the same sense of awe upon seeing Gustav Eiffel's masterpiece. To me, the blue Eiffel looked out of place, but I still thought the concept was kind of cool. The French Tricolor would have looked better, but that wouldn't have conveyed the right political message, and it was definitely interesting.

Far more interesting, for me, was what the French did to the Assemblée Nationale. Essentially the French equivalent of Britain's Parliament building or the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C., the National Assembly houses the legislative branch of France's government in a columned building across the Seine from the Place de la Concorde.

What was interesting about the National Assembly was that the French had decided to use it as the canvas to show off Europe's greatest strengths and the work being done to solve some of the world's problems. This was accomplished by two film projectors on pillars on the Pont de la Concorde that faced the building. Blinders set in front of the projectors ensured that one shone on only the columns while the other shone only on the wall behind the columns.

At times, the columns would show different pictures from the back wall, with wheat grass rising on the columns as video of windmills - touting clean air and eco-friendly farming techniques - played to convey the message. At one point, the French Tricolor showed on the columns while the backdrop was blue.At other times, the images were combined to show something as a whole, like Delacroix's famous painting, Liberty Leading the People. A scene from the Revolution of 1830, the painting is considered by many to be the first modern political painting. It celebrates the people rising to fight for their liberty. I'm guessing it was put on the video program to remind people of the turbulent past that is largely behind Europe as it forges into the future.


Oddly enough, Delacroix's painting included Lady Liberty holding a gun, and just about everyone else is armed. Here, however, the French seem to have sanitized the image. Perhaps they aren't all that eager to remember the turmoil of the past.Even though I didn't care for the Eiffel Tower's new look, it was nice to be in France and see what the French did to celebrate their leadership of the European Union.

Travel Tips: The Metro/Subway/Tube/Underground

I was lucky. My first experience with subterranean trains was in England, where everyone speaks my language, and the polite automated voice kindly reminds everyone to "Mind the gap" when entering or exiting the cars.

Living in suburban California, where we haven't exactly embraced public transit, I would have been at a serious disadvantage had I needed to navigate a city's metro system in, say, India.

For those of you who haven't had experiences with how to use metro systems, I will use the Paris Metro as an example. Everywhere I have been that has had a metro has operated it in the same basic way. It's kind of like math in that it's the same everywhere you go, but unlike math in that I can understand it.

The first step to using a metro is to know where you want to go. Maps invariably hanging in the stations will let you know where you are on the net of train lines and stops in the city. All you have to do, if the spot is not marked with a tourist-friendly red X, is look at one of the signs sure to be around the station, then find it on the map. The photo below is one such map at the Bir-Hakeim stop in Paris (if you look at the little picture of the Eiffel Tower and then look down and to the left, the white dot on the map is labeled "Bir-Hakeim" - enlarge the photo so you can see it).

Once you have determined where you want to go, you need to find the best way to get there. That will often involve changing stations. In this case, I wanted to go to Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur church. (At the top portion of the above map near the number 4). The closest stop is Anvers, on the blue line. Bir-Hakeim is on the medium green line.

To get to where I needed to go, I had to find where the two lines intersected. Following the medium green line upwards, I saw that it crossed the blue line at the Charles de Gaulle - Etoile stop, essentially the stop for the Arc du Triomphe.

To make sure I went the right way, I noted that Etoile was the last stop in that direction on the medium green line. The opposite line was Nation. Think of the metro line as a two-way street. One side goes the way you need to go, and the other side doesn't. Once you are on the platform, you don't want to run across the tracks when you realize you are on the wrong side (it's also probably illegal).

To help you, signs above, on or in front of the walkways will let you know which direction the train is heading. In the photo below, Bir-Hakeim (Tour Eiffel) is at the top, blocked in blue so you know it is that station you are at. The arrow points down, toward Nation - the terminus of the line. This is not the way I wanted to go, so I chose the opposite staircase. Note that all the stops in between are listed on this sign. That is not always the case. It is best to look at the larger map and remember not only the stop you want, but where the line terminates.

I took the next photo on the platform. The sign simply says "Etoile," indicating that this train is headed in that direction. It also tells me that the next train is one minute away, and the one after that will arrive in six minutes.

It can be helpful to know how many stops are between you and where you need to be, in case the car is crowded. You really don't want to be comfortably ensconced in a chair, surrounded by your luggage, and miss your stop because you waited too long to get up.

Smaller maps in the cars are often present to let you know the order of the stops. The white dots indicate that that stop is an intersection of two or more lines, and you can change trains without purchasing another ticket.

Etoile, my destination for this leg of the trip, has a white dot because several lines intersect there. You will always know which station you are at by the big, impossible-to-miss signs on the station walls, as in the photo below.

Once at Etoile, I followed the signs to the blue line. Anvers is not at a terminus (you can refer to the map at the top of this post to see that). From Etoile, I need to go in the direction of Nation, as Anvers lies on the blue line between Etoile and Nation.

Incidentally, the medium green line had also ended at Nation (the way I didn't want to go). It is the same stop, but you can see from the map why I went the way I did.

Once on the Nation line, it was just a matter of waiting for the Anvers stop, getting off, and walking to Sacre Coeur.
Using the metro is almost always better than using a taxi, as long as it gets you where you need to go. Tickets are very cheap, and it really is the most efficient way to move (providing the workers aren't on strike). If you have a ton of luggage, as in more than you can carry up and down stairs, then maybe the metro isn't the best for you until after you drop it off.

Do make note of the time the metro closes. I had an unfortunate experience in Rome one time where the metro and city bus lines shut down at 9 p.m. and I had to walk a considerable distance back to my hotel.