Castles and Xenophobes

Chateau Thierry, so named, as you might have guessed, for the Medieval Castle (Chateau=Castle) that dominate(s/d) the hill overlooking both the old downtown and overlooking the Marne. There are various placards posted around the hill and throughout the archaeological site that explain the history of the castle, the evolution of its fortifications through the centuries and what famous endeavours it figured into. Unfortunately, I can't tell you much about this because, while I am able to get around alright in everyday situations ie. ordering coffee or asking for directions, for some reason in college they didn't teach us many words relating to the fields of masonry or the military so I didn't really get much out of those little paragraphs. I do think that the building was begun in the 12th century and Joan of Arc marched triumphantly through the gate (look at the photo that I posted a few days ago) in 1429 during some battle in the 100 years war. Besides that I'm not so sure. Anyway, the castle itself is gone, I believe you can see its foundations on the top of the hill, but the surrounding ramparts are still in pretty good shape. The end effect is one where I am able to squint my eyes, pretend that the year is 1300 and imagine the good life that the lord and lady must be living inside (compared to me the lowly serf). Well, inside the walls kind of feels like a city park with a path around the outside and lots of pretty good sized trees. Only the extraordinary view from the top of the Medieval walls and turrets displels that more pedestrian semblance. So I went on a little run yesterday making a little circle on a path around the bottom of the castle walls before i passed over the mini bridge which passed over what once was a moat, through the double gate and onto the interior grounds. I jogged around the inside and when I was ready to head back I took the alternate way back which was ... through a narrow opening in the side of one of those turrets, into an unlit stairway smelling of centuries of must down the spiral staircase whose stone steps have had their edges worn smooth by countless people running up and down through the ages, and finally out of the second narrow arched doorway out of the turret at ground level outside of the castle. Again, with just a pinch of imagination I could have continued down the second flight of stairs (which actually only exists in my imagination) and walked into the dungeon with the rows of prisoners chained to the walls. So, yes, different scenery here compared to what I am accustomed.

To briefly discuss xenophobia, that is fear of foreigners, let me recount an anecdote. In the months leading up to my departure to France, and the numerous times that I got to explain to people where I was going and what I would be doing, one of the most common reactions that I came across was that I should be careful about the French. After all, they hate Americans. Right? I was of the opinion, perhaps a living a little on the sunny side of life, that there would be ignorant Frenchmen just as there are Americans and those that I would be interested in meeting would accept or reject me based more on my character than my nationality. Fast forward to a few nights ago. Kira (the German assistant working at my school) and Shireen and Sandra (the English and German, respectively, assistants at the other high school in town) wanted to have a Wednesday night on the town. However, it seems that this place closes up even earlier than Vermont, which is certainly saying something. Almost all the establishments advertising themselves as bars, whether they are or not is up for discussion, close at 8 or 9 at night. One place, however, was open – the Bar de Centre-Ville (the Downtown Bar). It is decorated like I always imagine Back Home Again (a Lord of The Rings themed restaurant ran by a religious cult in central Vermont which has been much touted over the years by Kristin). Yes, let it suffice to say that the landscape painted on the wall in what appeared to be tempra paint could have been done by someone with much less skill than me and certainly with less taste. Anyway, not all the French are super-chic. There’s some pretty rough ones too. It appears that they like to congregate at Bar de Centre-Ville. A fairly international table, 2 Germans, 1 American, and a girl from Trinidad and Tobago. When the bartender asked us what we wanted to drink, the girl from Trinidad asked for wine but kind of mixed up the words which got him off to a rough start. He called for a plump man on the patio who spoke English to come translate for us. The other 3 of us certainly spoke better French than he English, yet we were forced wait patiently as he struggled to understand a question such as “How much?” and come up with a way to tell us. So then we became the center of all attention in the bar. A woman behind us with a particularly low voice. Certainly lower than my own – I did many double takes to check for the presence of an Adam’s Apple, there was none. She must have had a rough life. The evening certainly took a turn for the interesting when she threw her miniature pinscher into our booth and whom she proceeded to instruct to bouffe (eat) the foreigners. When we got the dog thing straightened out (it was just as confused as we were), we spent the next 20 minutes or so listening to this woman railing against us and were pleasantly amused as she went through the list of nationalities that she thought that we were. It started off as Quebecois but by the end of the evening she had decided quite certainly that we were English. 0 for 4. Unfortunately as we were leaving Shireen bent over and petted the dog making little noises and told the woman how cute her dog was. Perfect encouragement for one more harangue before we left. So, the moral of the story is that we will not be going back to Bar de Centre-Ville and that xenophobia is not just aimed at Americans, the Brits and the Canucks get theirs in good turn as well.