Typical Weekend

This past weekend consisted of a day trip to Carcassonne and flea market shopping on Sunday with my host family.  In other words, it was just another average weekend in France, yet when I compare it to what I would be doing on any given weekend if I were back home, I am filled with a renewed sense of appreciation for my time spent here. 

Saturday, we went on our second (free) group outing, this time to the medieval walled city of Carcassonne.  Despite having to get up when it was still dark out in order to catch the bus for the nearly two hour ride there, the day trip was a Saturday well spent.  I will admit that between Aigues-Mortes (another city we visited the first weekend here) and Carcassonne, I've had my fill of medieval walled cities...for now at least.  That being said, I did enjoy touring the city and learning a little about its history in the process.

Right outside the largest entrance to the city

In taking the usual guided tour of the city, we learned that it is one of the most well-preserved walled cities from the Middle Ages.  According to our guide, the place now gets more than three MILLION visitors a year.  I wonder if the recent Harry Potter craze has any influence on this number? In describing the trip, our program director told us it was the "closest we would ever get to Hogwarts."

Exploring our Harry Potter-esque surroundings...

Although cathedrals in Europe are about as numerous as fast food joints in the U.S., visiting these churches and marveling at the unique architecture and stain glass windows that date back to the 12th century never gets old.  These pictures don't do justice to 'la basilique Saint-Nazaire' situated in the city, but here are a few I snapped:

To finish off our visit, we toured the "Museum of Torture", a museum dedicated to all the methods of torture used at the time of the Inquisition.  After we finished learning about all the rather disturbing torture practices, we had time to take one last look around before saying goodbye to Carcassonne.

Sunday, I woke up to find my host family on their way out the door.  I asked Michèle where they were going and she replied, "marché aux puces." It took a second for this to register; understanding French fully awake is already difficult, let alone trying to comprehend the language first thing in the morning.  Never one to miss a chance to shop, I sprang into action, racing back to my room to get ready as I announced that I wanted to come too.  While I didn't end up buying anything, I had the unique opportunity to tag along with a French family as they practiced the fine art of Sunday flea marketing.  The action started even before we arrived at the flea market.  Once we drove to the area where the flea market is held each Sunday (a "difficult" neighborhood in the north part of Montpellier, according to Michèle), there was the issue of finding a place to park.  The following 20 minutes consisted of three stressed out French people shouting and arguing over where we could find a place to park, while I sat in silence, not wanting to add to the drama.  Although I have heard Italians are worse, French drivers have little to no regard for traffic laws (they serve as mere 'suggestions' rather than 'rules to be obeyed'), driving wherever they please.  On the road here, much the same as with pedestrian traffic, it's every man for himself and the rules are there are no rules.  In the end, we did find a tiny spot to park our tiny car, though whether it actually was a legitimate place to park is debatable.  Once we finally made it to the market in one piece, we started out on our mission to find whatever treasures we could for the lowest price possible.  Watching the French haggle over a one or two euro difference in the price of a given item was almost as entertaining as the parking debacle.  In the end, we walked away with a bread basket, a set of dishes, a giant poster, and a set of Chinese lanterns.  I walked away empty handed, but with an experience I am sure I will never forget.  I know that it's weekends like these, as ordinary as they seem to me now, that are going to be the times I will miss once I'm back home.