Last night, Elli and I embarked on our run much later than usual (after 22:30). We took to the sleepy streets of Metz, still glossy and reflecting the streetlamps in the glorious calm that always follows the rain. Crossing the river, we passed the Temple Protestant, illuminated by golden lights and casting a perfect mirror image into the dark waters of the Moselle River below. We always bring our iPods, but seldom end up using them, as we invariably end up discussing our hopes, dreams, and loves. Tonight was also such a night, and the enchantment of Metz under her veil of night encouraged especially intimate conversation. After all these months, we are still spellbound by her beauty in all seasons and all times of day.
As we rounded the lake, a light drizzle became a steady rain, refreshing and cool on our skin. The rain increased in intensity as we crossed the bridge and slowed to a light jog as we continued on the naturally sloping path. At the water’s edge, under the rain, reclined on the wet grass, was a couple, blissfully unabashed, in the throes of passion. Anywhere else in the world, it might have shocked me, but somehow, it seemed perfectly natural and appropriate for this setting. We giggled to ourselves as we passed, resisting the urge to turn around for a second glance.
The rain increased to a downpour as we crossed the campus of Université Paul Verlaine, and we were completely drenched, laughing hysterically, invigorated. The cathedral loomed high above the city in the distance, the green copper roof and golden brick taking on an otherworldly glow. We noticed some graffiti on the side of the university restaurant, which said “SEE THE WORLD.” We paused. It had not been there on our previous runs. It was like an omen. We threw our hands in the air and screamed, lost in the beauty of the moment.
As we reentered the centre-ville, we raced down the center of the road, as there was no traffic. Many Messins, caught without umbrellas, were taking shelter from the downpour in the doorways of cafés and beneath arcades. They seemed so awkward, so constrained in their dutiful efforts to preserve their immaculate clothing, makeup, and belongings, and completely bewildered by the two joyful spirits sprinting past, unencumbered by rain, by anything. We were free. We were flying.
We even dared to run through Place Saint Jacques, where well-dressed women smirked at our antics while the men shouted encouragement! “Allez les filles! Allez les sportives!” “Prenez votre douche” “Bon courage!”
“Bonsoir!” we smiled, without losing stride.
Amazing how something as simple as running in the rain could create such a profound memory that neither one of us is likely to forget. Whether or not I return to France next year, my days in Metz with these wonderful friends are numbered. Only a few precious weeks remain of our nine months together, and I find myself clinging to each moment like a priceless jewel, trying to lock each one inside my mind.
The stress of preparing my students for their English evaluations, the lack of news from job prospects, and the chaotic pace of my life pushed me to reserve an impromptu train ticket down south. I would never forgive myself for living in France for almost a year without seeing Nice, so off I went! It was amazing to see the contrasts in the terrain. The Lorraine region is quite flat, but the further south one goes, the more savage the landscape becomes. The jagged cliffs, outcrops of rock, and tropical flora reminded me that I was no longer in the north of France.
I stepped off my overnight train, greeted by an abundance of sunshine, endless rows of palm trees, the cerulean blue waves of the Mediterranean, world-class hotels, and colorful architecture. My type A personality immediately pulled me into full tourist-mode. As soon as I left my things in the hostel, I hit the streets, checking out the ornate Russian Orthodox church, the Cathedral, the Marc Chagall
Museum, La Vieille Ville (the old city,) and of course, wandered the beaches. The heat quickly took its toll. I went to sleep the first night, dripping with sweat, full-blown headache, and more stressed than ever, marveling at how Nice could be described as a haven of relaxation. Certainly it was a lovely place... but I just wasn’t getting it. What was I missing???
The next day, I booked a day trip to the medieval hilltop perfume-making village of Eze and to the principality of Monaco. I savored the scents of Eze, wandering the labyrinth of narrow stone streets, marveling in the gardens, even buying a small bottle of Fragonard perfume. It was lovely to gaze over the hilltop at the various levels of terraces and elegant homes literally spilling down the hill.
In Monaco, I was surrounded by undeniable glamour as I wandered the footsteps of Princess Grace. The second smallest country in the world (only the Vatican is smaller), densely populated with wealthy foreign 'tax refugees.' I was in awe of the Casino and the endless array of lavish automobiles parading in front to drop off the wealthy clientele, half expecting James Bond to emerge with a sexy Russian spy. The Port of Hercules was overflowing with yachts and massive cruise ships. Spectator stands were still visible from the recent Grand Prix race. Everything about this spectacular place was gorgeous... but alas, too rich for my blood. I was anxious to return to Nice.
I fell into a deep sleep on the bus back to Nice, nearly a coma of exhaustion. The bus driver awakened me when we arrived, joking about how I need to slow down and enjoy life. If he had any idea how he had nailed my personality on the head!
Day three, I slept in till 10am, enjoying a grasse matinée. I filled my bag with a book, a bikini, a towel and my camera, setting out towards the beach. How delicious it was to lay down on the picturesque (albeit rocky) beach. I finally began to understand Nice. The children splashing in the waves, the vendors selling chouchou (candied peanuts), the slender women sunbathing topless, and the faint, drifting sounds of Provençal guitar... time was standing still, at last! Hunger was the only force strong enough to drag me from the beach, and so I wandered into the Vieille Ville (Old Town.) Without a doubt, this is the most splendid part of Nice; winding cobblestone streets, nothing but bars, cafés, tiny churches, and charming boutiques. The architecture is much less conservative in the south. I fell in love with the daring turquoise shutters, pink façades and orange tiles roofs.
Leisurely, I wandered the marché aux fleurs (flower market), browsing through flowers, antiques, and produce. I settled on a Niçoise salade for lunch; crisp, fresh, and colorful. I basked in the sunlight and street music, watching the passers-by, drinking in everything I had been too busy to notice the two previous days. I headed back to the beach, ending my day there. My senses were heightened, I suddenly noticed the subtle changes in light as the sun set, how the cast shadows on the tile roofs and the pebbles on the beach changed direction, how the Mediterranean seemed to inhale and exhale the most refreshing breeze. I gazed at the scores of people at the outdoor cafés along the Promenade des Anglais, enjoying the essentials of life: food, wine, conversation... and the endless expanse of the sea.
While, bien sûr, there are a million landmarks, churches and museums worth exploring, the real treasure of Nice is the change of pace she can bring to your life, if only you will allow her.
Port of Hercules, Monaco
This is what Nice is all about
It took me three days, but I finally learned
to relax and enjoy la vie niçoise!
Grand Opening of Centre Pompidou Metz
With great anticipation, my fellow assistants and I awaited the grand opening of the Metz Extension of the Centre Pompidou, and with great fanfare we watched it all unfold. This is the biggest thing to happen to Metz since Saint Clement drove the Graoully out of the city. The architectural marvel created by Shigeru Ban and Jean de Gastines, the Pompidou center has been a work in progress since long before our arrival last September. We watched as it progressed, often wondering if it would ever make its deadline. The feminine curves of the roof, dramatic, angular galleries jutting out of the exterior, and juxtaposition of building materials has created a new dimension, giving Metz relevance even 3,000 years after its birth.
We waited over two hours to be among the first to enter the museum opening day. The queue went as far as the train station. In line we heard a number of languages, and we beamed with pride, knowing that OUR city was in the spotlight, that the whole world was watching HER. As we walked inside, we could hardly contain the excitement of being a part of this historic moment for Metz. The interior space is just as astounding as the exterior, it's a truly remarkable space. It felt like walking into a room of old, dear friends. Picasso. Matisse. Chagall. Warhol. Braque. Kandinsky. We're all on a last name basis. The galleries have enormous windows, framing the greatest masterpiece of all, the city skyline of Metz, dominated by the cathedral.
We partook of the festivities surrounding the opening. One night, white umbrellas equipped with flashlights were distributed to the throngs of people, who were instructed to wander around the museum grounds, the brilliant white of the illuminated umbrellas uniting with the white fiber glass roof of the Centre Pompidou. We all became a living chef-d'œuvre, or Masterpiece. The effect was stunning; startlingly beautiful against the night sky. We played rowdy game of follow the leader, weaving in and out throughout the crowds, twirling our umbrellas, spinning around, and changing directions without warning. A beautiful, childlike joy overflowed within us. Such simple pleasure... the best kind. Other festivities included a most impressive fireworks display, outdoor concerts, parades through the street, and even a mass freeze, in which we eagerly participated.
The Centre Pompidou promises to revitalize the city, bringing tourists from all over France, Germany, Belgium, Luxembourg, and beyond to a city previously overshadowed by surrounding regions. Vibrant new signage indicating the directions toward the train station, museums, centre-ville, and cathedral give the streets new life. Metz has taken the center stage, and I’m so proud to see her shine. I grin as I pass my favorite bakeries and tea rooms, watching the crowds of visitors clamor for their delicious specialties. With pride, I give directions to passers-by, even to French people. It legitimizes me as a citizen of Metz. To have more knowledge about a French town than an actual Frenchie is a pretty awesome feeling!
Admittedly, I am a bit taken aback by the sudden invasion of tour buses, foreign tongues, crowds filling the cathedral, and tourists photographing my apartment building. All of my favorite places are under siege by outsiders. I was quite content to live in one of France’s best-kept secrets. However, I understand that Metz is an extraordinary place, deserving of admiration, exploration, and inspiration. If she can do for others even a fraction of what she has done for me, it would be life-changing for them. I know deep down that I must be content to share her.
Gorgeous interior space
The line
Fireworks finale
The abnormally long and cold winter in Lorraine has finally retreated, yielding to tulips, pansies, and hyacinths. The outdoor cafés of Place Saint Jacques are once again overflowing with patrons who come to sun themselves and sip Perrier or espresso. Gone are the black pea coats; in are the sleek leather jackets, delicate scarves and sunglasses. The fountain at the esplanade is once again gurgling with life, sending a pleasant mist into the air, and lovers inhabit nearly every park bench at the Plan d’Eau. Kayakers and runners are out in full force along the River Moselle, as are children who come to feed the swans. It’s so wonderful to see life breathed back into Metz.
Avenue Foch
Nothing like a coffee en terrace at Place Saint Jacques
