L’Histoire de Shoggy

As this is my first blog post for the summer, I feel that it is necessary to start with the obligatory recitation of all of the good things that have happened so far. Thus….I had a very comfortable plane ride, the food is good, the hotel is excellent and I have had very little sleep, but am very pleased with things.

Now… for the important things…

This afternoon, six of the kids on our trip and I went out to Versailles to see the Chateau and Gardens. After returning to our hotel and securing our dinner reservations at Chez Clément, I decided to pop down to the local, free, internet café (aka the Auld Alliance Pub) to do some work. Once I arrived, I quickly set up my laptop and began to do the prep work for the following few days.

As I looked up to my left, at the bar were 2 individuals whom I had not seen in over a year. The first was David, the main bar keep for the day, whom I find absolutely hilarious because of his natural Scottish wit and incredible ability to make you feel absolutely welcome and completely absurd at the same time. The second was Grant, the main grounds keeper at the hotel that we stay at in the 4^th district of Paris, called the Marais. Grant has been working for the MIJE (our hotel) for as long as Travel for Teens has been spending its summers there. Grant is a native Australian who doesn’t say much, but when he does speak it’s something that you want to hear. As I propped up on my barstool to catch up with these two, I noticed that another individual had just come in from having a smoke on the terrace and that he seemed to be exceedingly friendly with my other two friends. Naturally, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, I introduced myself as Graham and he introduced himself as “Shoggy” (shoooogeeee if you have an Scottish/Australian accent).

Almost instantly, Shoggy and I became friends and for absolutely good reasons. Our conversation started out with the usual banter about why we were in Paris, how we learned French, why you were in the Pub, etcetera, but it quickly came around to much more interesting things as soon as Shoggy let fly with the information that he was a film professor for the Brown University Graduate exchange program in Paris and that he was incredibly good friends with the European film maker Lars Von Trier.

Here is where we found our common interests. I informed him that during the 2007 year, I had studied film, art history, and political science in Paris with UNC’s Paris Consortium and asked him if he had met or was friends with Professor Costello. He answered that the name sounded familiar, but that he could not place the name with a face. I answered simply that I felt that the two of them would be fast friends because of their mutual interests in film and art history and that at the upcoming conference of Paris Program Directors they should make introductions. He responded with much enthusiasm at the idea and mentioned that he would make an effort.

As we talked further, our subjects ran from our experiences with tour groups to our various views on exchange programs and language acquisition to current news. Finally, he informed me of his story and how he came to be a film teacher...it wasn’t what I was expecting:

In 1974, abortion was the central issue in France, much in the same way that it exists today in America. In 1974, Shoggy was 14 years old and his mother was Lily de Lyon. For those of you reading at home, Lily de Lyon was extremely important in the Planned Parenthood movement of France called “Planning Familial”. She, and her son as you will soon see, were the driving force behind the legalization and regulation of abortion in France.

During a pro-abortion riot in 1974, the CRS (French riot police) were involved in an altercation with protestors demonstrating on Blvd. St. Michel in the 3^rd district of Paris. During their operation, they misread the map of protest and instead of attacking the adults at the front of the manifestation; they attacked the rear, where the children of the adults were being taken care of. Then, as the CRS are famous for doing, they began clubbing anyone who looked like they were of age and arresting them. Shoggy, seeing the CRS advancing, grabbed 2 kids and threw them into a café and turned just in time to catch a blow to the head from a CRS baton. He was 14 years old. Luckily, a photographer from the Socialist French magazine “Libération” was able to catch of picture of Shoggy’s bloody face as he was being beaten by the CRS. That photo made it on the cover of the magazine and he became the literal “poster child” for police brutality in France. To this day, he has a divot in his skull where part of it was removed by the CRS back in 1974. Due to the outcry from the French people regarding the abuse of a child by the police, Abortion passed extremely easily in the French parliament.

As my face gradually receded back from its “jaw-dropped” stage, I began asking him questions about what happened after the attack. He stated that his mother, who had not realized that he had been hit and that he was currently in a Parisian hospital, saw the cover of the magazine and rushed back to Paris to be with her son. After several days of hospitalization, he was released and sent back to Lyon. A year later, a very famous event happened in French Parliament. A woman by the name of Simone Veil stood up to make a speech, she was a very influential Jewish woman in the Socialist Party and respect to her was supreme. During the speech, a young parliamentarian from one of the myriad of parties represented stood up and stated “You speak like a Nazi!!”. Simone, then tore back her sleeve and showed the tattoo she had received as a prisoner at Auschwitz and said, “I have been subject to the Nazis…I am not a Nazi!!”

I told you that story, so that the next part of Shoggy’s story will make sense. Shoggy was riding a train soon after this event happened in Parliament. He was around 16 years old and was in the process of helping his Aunt dispose of a dirty diaper, when he passed a train car with an older woman sitting very close to the trash can in which he was about to place the diaper. He apologized to the lady for the smell and she stated that it was fine because she had smelled worse. He laughed and sat down with the lady to talk for a few minutes. She told him her story and then, after realizing who she was, he stated that his mother was Lily of Lyon and she exclaimed, “You are the boy from the photo!!” Instantly, they had a strong friendship that lasted for years.

Again, after I picked my jaw off of the floor, I asked him about Von Trier and his methods of filmmaking. Our conversation continued over several topics and he described in great detail the meaning behind Le Corbeau, Les Enfants de Paradis, and other famous French films created during WWII. He also explained how Van Trier thinks and why films such as The Element of Crime and Anti-Christ constantly revert back to melodramatic themes, but proclaim to have great thoughts regarding the human experience…..or something like that. We both agreed that at the essence…it was just the recognition of human emotion and the actions these emotions effect.

It was an incredible experience and he was an incredible individual. Luckily, his favorite neighborhood bar is also my favorite neighborhood bar, so I am looking forward to picking his brain more. In typical style, I’m finishing off the day with a nice plate of rotisserie chicken and creamed risotto, while looking forward to sleeping and traveling to Joigny tomorrow.

- Pondhopper

Back to the Future...

I've been home for 5 weeks now and I think the lag has finally worn off. It's always striking to me how bitter sweet the reunion with home becomes when you've moved every 3-5 days for 3 months. Part of you really likes coming back to the same places, with the same faces, the same smells, the same foods, the same social scenes, the same blanket comforts that so readily envelope you like you never left.

But then you hit the wall. The immediate assault of monotany is pontless to try to stop. The perceived loss of adventure and the return to everything that you remember with varying degrees of love and hate are almost as much of a shock as jumping into the freezing water of lake Geneva in early June. You welcome the adrenaline and the refreshing shock of having back the things you love, but somethings you could do without.

You would think that by this point in my life, there wouldn't be much of a change and these feelings would have disapated after having experienced them so many times. But no, they don't...and frankly, I like that they don't. Those feelings make you move in a different way. They are constant reminders about what else is out there. How many different people there are in the world and how they all move differently from you, yet you all seem to move in the same direction.

I remember when I was in college, I heard a man who I have the utmost respect for say that people are made for relationships. Not just in the romantic sense, but in all senses. Relationships with friends, co-workers, neighbors, random people you stand in line with at Bojangles or ride the bus/train with, everyone. At the base of everything, we are all after the same thing and that is the recognition and love of an other.

I think he was exactly right and that is probably the biggest lesson that these last few years have taught me. Whether it was bars in Paris, bonfires in Scotland, beaches in Nice, Chalets in Switzerland, getting to know amazing kids, trips in the US, or trains everywhere else, relationships were always formed and I've found over the years that some of those relationships, though formed in a few days or even hours, are stronger than some that I've had for years.

It's the combination of fatigue, anxiety about traveling, thrill of adventure, and, honestly, the fear of being alone that pushes you together so hard and with such force that a piece of them stays with you. A piece, which in my opinion, actually makes you change in a way you never expected or pushed you towards something that you were scared of, which in the end, turned out to be just what you needed.

Maybe the cure for all of this is to just keep traveling. Maybe the cure is to try to have the same perspective as when I'm on the road. Maybe if I can do that, then coming back can just be another adventure.

Here's to trying.

- pondhopper

Feet on the ground, Head on Skye....

Wow...Where to start!

Yesterday was quite possibly one of my best day's traveling I have ever had. The night before, I stayed up all night talking with some new kids I met from Italy and France. We started talking in the early afternoon, and then found out we were rooming with each other later that night. They were great guys and we had a great time talking about our travels and where we had been. Really great time.

The next morning, we all woke up around 7 said our goodbyes. Stefan and Matheo were headed to Inverness on the mainland and Samy and Agathe were headed out to find a better camp site on Skye. We all had breakfast and they headed out. After saying goodbye, I had to figure out how to get up to the north of Skye. Since it was Saturday, the normal 3 buses that run during the day were reduced to one bus that ran every 4 hours....awkward. So, I talked to Euan, the owner of the hostel and he suggested that I try to hitchhike up to Portree and then get to Staffin from there.

So, I ripped up a microwave box and wrote Broadford on one side, Staffin on the other and headed out to the main road. Ok mom, I know you are reading this and freaking out, but I was perfectly fine!!

After standing on the side of the road with my day pack and my sign, a blue Mitsubishi pulled up and waved me in. He said that he was headed to Portree and that he would drop me at the main square, so I hopped in. This guy's name was John and he was a farmer on the Island. He explained to me how the island worked and that there were only 10,000 people that live on the entire Island year round. He also said that the winters get down to -27*C....no thanks. John told me about some great beaches up around Staffin and that I needed to get up close and personal with a Highland cow. Hmmm...face time with a 1800 pound shaggy headed cow....done. John also introduced me to his daughter Rebecca who I'm pretty sure he was trying to hook me up with, but whatever...I wasn't fighting it.

After John dropped me at the square, I found out that there was a bus leaving for Staffin in 20 minutes and thought that this would be much better than hitching it because it would be faster. I hopped the bus and we drove past the Old Man of Storr, which is a huge natural rock column that sticks out of the side of a mountain. Incredible. Finally, I arrived at Staffin and hopped out of the bus into this town of about 25 people and 7 trillion SHEEP. I have never seen so many sheep in my life. Everywhere....Sheep. We had to stop the bus 5 times because of the sheep that were just laying in the road. Stupid animals, but kind of neat at the same time.

I noticed after I got off of the bus that two girls had gotten off with me, so we started talking and were headed in the same direction so we decided to stick together. Ironically, they were both named Charlotte and were from France. We made our way through the small town and then down to the rock beach. The beach was amazing. It was a boulder beach with grassy hills between the rocks. We hiked along the cliffs for about a mile and saw the mountain range called the Quarrang over the beaches and the bay in front of us. We sat down, had a picnic, and napped for about 3 hours and it was incredible.

After getting back on the bus, we drove up to the north of the Island and I saw TONS (just 1 really fat) highland cow. After the cow, we stopped at Duntulm to see the castle ruins and then on the Uig to see the port. I can't describe the incredible beauty that rests on the north side of Skye. It is mandatory that everyone go there and see it.

After getting back to Portree, I decided that it was time to hitch back home to the hostel so I started out on the road. I stood around for about an hour and was finally picked up by a nice lady who informed me that she could take me only 3 of the 25 miles I would need to go. I figured that this was better than nothing, so I went for it. She dropped me at her small town (10 people) and I started waiting again. About 25 minutes later, a construction worker who had passed me on his bike in Portree was on his way back to Kyle of Lochalsh with his car and he carried me back to Broadford. He told me that the locals are so used to having kids hitch-hike up on the Island, that they always them up and give them as much help as they need. I was incredibly grateful and we had a great conversation about the health system in England and motorcycles. I know.....weird combination.

Once I got back to the Hostel, I grabbed a 2L pizza from the co-op and had dinner. I sat around and watched "There Will Be Blood" with some german kids and then headed down to the bonfire with Camy, Euan and Eva, the owners of the hostel. These guys were amazing. We sat around for 6 hours talking, playing guitar, drinking beers, joking, laughing, loving everything about being on Skye. The stars were incredibly brilliant due to there being no light pollution and I couldn't take my eyes off of them. It was definitely one of the best Hostels and nights I have ever had travelling.

This morning I said a sad goodbye to Skye and made my way to Glasgow on a 7 hour bus ride. Glasgow is lame, boring, and industrial. However, I did go to a kilt shop and find out about my last name and what Tartan I get to wear. I have 3 so....I'll have to make up my mind. Later, I walked around Glasgow an realized that it is just malls and shops and 1 museum so I went and watched the A-Team at the 9 story cinema. There's a big part of me that wants to go back to Skye, but oh well. I needed to come see Glasgow, I guess.

Tomorrow, I am headed to Edinburgh in the morning, dropping off my stuff and taking a day trip up to St. Andrews. I think it will be a good day, and who knows, maybe I'll get a picture of some famous golfer sucking it up on the course! Here's to trying! Tuesday is Prague!!

- Pondhopper

PS: Everyone that reads this needs to add Eva Broadford Kosta as a fan on Facebook. They are the best hostel on the Isle of Skye and they are wonderful people!! DO IT!!

Dog eats owner's necrotic toe...

Thus my trip to Scotland commenced. Arriving in Edinburgh at 11h20 in the morning on Thursday, I had already been awake since 4, had a 2.5 hour bus ride, a 2 hour plane ride, and I was in desperate need of something hilarious. The Scottish newspaper did not disappoint. That was the headline on Page 1. Yes...page 1.

Once I arrived at my hostel, I sat down and had a delicious breakfast of pancakes and fresh bacon. Amazing. After breakfast, my friend Frederico and I started out to do some hiking around Edinburgh and see the various castles. Edinburgh was full of activity. Apparently there was an annual street festival going on, so we were bombarded with flyers for comedies, magicians, serious theatre, and a massive concert in the courtyard of the palace.

After fighting our way through tons of people, we made our way to the Castle only to find out that it was 24 pounds to get in. That was just a bit much, so we headed down the Royal mile to see what was on the street. We walked past St. Giles Kirk and the John Knox house to make our way slowly down to Holyrood Castle (the queens residence in Edinburgh)and the base of Authur's Seat.

Authur's Seat is a huge mountain in the middle of Edinburgh that used to be a strong point for the town. All that is left on the mountain of the old fort's are a wall of an abbey that used to be on the east side. After hiking all the way to the top of the hill, the two of us were exhausted. So we decided to head back to the hostel and relax before heading to dinner. For dinner, we went to a small restaurant called Mum's Great Comfort Food. It was Great comfort food. For 8 pounds (13 dollars) we were able to get 2 huge meals with mashed potatoes and vegetables followed by a Bailey's milkshake. It was incredible and incredibly delicious. Following dinner, we headed back to the hostel for a huge glass of Magner's Cider and as much sleep as we could get.

This morning, I said goodbye to Edinburgh until monday and headed for the Isle of Skye. The trip by bus was incredibly beautiful. The Scottish Highlands are some of the most beautiful mountains I have ever seen. They are huge mountains covered in fields of grass and waterfalls and everything is a deep color of green. The enormous Lochs go right up against the base of the mountains and are surrounded by large manor houses and old castles. It's incredibly beautiful. So far in Skye, I have found my hostel and am planning on going to get some great seafood tonight. Skye is right on the sea and the whole place smells of salt water. Tomorrow, I'm planning to do some hiking and have my first solid sleep in 2 days. Right now, it is raining pretty steadily and the BBC is on TV.

Cheers :)

-Pondhopper

The do not eat list...

When you go to France, do not eat Andouillette de Troyes.

The end.

- Pondhopper

The woman at the Wall....

Several weeks ago, I took a group of students on a walking tour of a section of Paris known as the Marais. Since the Marais is the third oldest section of Paris, it follows that it would also have a wealth of history. This tour started out like all other walking tours that I do in the Marais: Quick discussion about the Marais and how it was changed from a swamp into a living area by the Knights Templar, a discussion about Space Invaders, a history about the strong Jewish population, and a walk past the Memorial de Shoah (the holocaust museum).

Upon arrival at Shoah, I noticed that there was a very old woman sitting on the stoop of the Boy’s school just across from the memorial. At first, I didn’t think anything of it since the Marais is filled with the homeless and infirm. However, after a few minutes of talking about Shoah, I started to translate a placard located on the wall of the school just above the woman. The placard marks the history of the Boy’s and Girl’s schools of the Marais where, in 2 days, 400 children were deported to various camps in the east and exterminated. During my translation, the old woman started to speak very loudly at me. It was not as if she was yelling at me, but as older people with hearing problems sometimes do. Naturally, I stopped explaining the placard and tried to understand what she was saying, but it was very, very, difficult to understand.

At this point, the kids had a very confused look on their face and I was struggling to find the words to explain what was going on. As I was turning to explain to the kids that this lady was most likely homeless and a little crazy, a woman in her mid forties ran up to us saying, “Mom! Mom! Let the man do his job he is teaching these kids!” Then it all made since. This lady was just waiting for her daughter at the step because she could not make it down the alley to the bakery. Most likely, she lived around the area and was just out for a walk to get her daily bread.

After the younger woman reached us, she apologized profusely for her mother’s actions and asked me what I was doing. I explained that I was taking the kids on a walking tour of the Marais and that they were American students spending some time in France. As soon as I said “American students”, the mother exploded into cries of “Thank you, Thank you, my children!” Now I was extremely confused and convinced that this lady was a little unstable. Her daughter, most likely seeing the confusion painted across our faces calmly explained that this lady was a resistance fighter during the war.

Jackpot!

This usually benign tour had immediately become ten thousand times more interesting and a huge opportunity for the kids to talk to one of the only surviving French resistance fighters in the world. But that wasn’t all.

After I got the ridiculous grin of surprise off of my face, I turned to the woman and started asking her questions. This was like turning of a flood gate of memories for the lady. It was very difficult for me to understand what she said at first, but after I got past the aged accent it made sense. Her story was this:

In 1940, she was a 21 year old Jewess living in the Marais quarter of Paris. Initially, when the Nazi’s began to occupy Paris, the Jews in the quarter were content with obeying the ever growing restrictions on their rights and believed fully that the Vichy Government would not let them be deported because, after all, they were French.

Finally, when it was declared that the Jews had to wear the Star of David and were unable to leave there various quarters, it was too late. Early one morning, she awoke to the sounds of children yelling in the street beneath her apartment. She said that she was used to hearing these sounds because the schools for the elementary age children were just beneath her window. However, this morning the cries were different. When she got up to see what was happening, she said that the police and German officers were loading the young children into the backs of large trucks and taking them away. The officers were telling the children that they were going to join their parents in a new home outside of Paris. These children were being deported to the concentration camps in the east and she informed us that their parents were arrested later that afternoon when they came to pick up their children from school.

Her eyes were filled with tears after telling this part of the story and she had to take a minute to steady herself in order to continue. After 70 years the wounds were obviously still fresh.

Immediately that afternoon, she began conversing with various people in the Marais that were known to be in touch with the French resistance in “Free France” in the south, and with de Gaulle in England. She became a courier for the resistance and managed to survive the mass deportations from the Marais by, and this shocked me, befriending German officers and hiding in their basement.

Apparently, two German officers who had fought in the first World War hid her in their basement and aided in her sending messages because they were fiercely opposed to the Nazi’s. In fact, their names were enshrined on the Wall of the Righteous (a list of people who sheltered and saved Jews in France), just behind where this lady was telling me this story. Finally, she ended the story by telling us how she lived in the basement of an apartment for 4 years, risking death every day until Paris was liberated. She then went on to marry a fellow fighter and have 9 children, 21 grandchildren and 6 great grandchildren.

I’m sure I had this ridiculous look on my face and then tried in vain to transmit to the kids how I was feeling and how important this woman was. I’m not sure if I got it across substantially because of my own shock, but I hope I did. It’s amazing to hear those stories and they are getting rarer every day. Its times like these that remind me how much I love this job and remind me how blessed I am to hear these stories.

- Pondhopper.