I had fondue for the first time! On Tuesday night, we had a farewell NCSU dinner at a fondue restaurant called Le Broc. A friend and I shared a goat cheese fondue, and we were given platters of potato, tomato, charcuterie (I asked for a chicken replacement), a pickle, and a basket of bread to use as dipping items. It was a fun meal, and quite delicious! I look forward to trying the Melting Pot back in Raleigh.
On Wednesday night we had our farewell dinner with everyone from the European Summer Program at Omnia, at 9 Rue Esquermoise. The restaurant was absolutely gorgeous, with semi-grand staircases connecting its 3 floors and intricate molding everywhere. To give it an even greater air of mystery, it used to be the first legal brothel in Lille! How very historic. We were seated on the top floor, which had impossibly high ceilings, a large screen on one wall, and an overall feeling of extravagance. On the table were red and white wines to sample, but I sipped my own (soda) in an equally fancy, thin-stemmed glass. We were served a delicious cheese quiche as an appetizer, and it was one of the greatest things I’ve eaten. It was heartbreaking when I nibbled the last bite, truly. We were then served a salmon cake topped with mashed potatoes for the main course, and tiramisu for desert. The French sure do say farewell with a bang.
The program directors played a video for us recapping the memories of the last month, during which the large screen flickered regrettably off of a replay of one of the World Cup games. Beats me if I know who was playing. It was a very pleasant dinner, followed by the long walk back from La Grand Place to our dorms. It’s about 25 minutes, although it didn’t seem quite so long that night.
After the brothel dinner, I went out with the gang to watch the France vs. Ecuador game. I figured it would be a sin to be in Europe at the time of the World Cup and not go out and experience the craze! We found a screening outside of a bar off of Rue Nationale. The size of the crowd was disproportional to the size of the screen, which didn’t seem to be a problem at all. Somehow we were pushed to the middle of the crowd, and I felt myself surrounded by this incredible sphere of energy. Often, one half of the crowd would yell “Nous sommes les français”, and the other half would shout “et nous allons ganger!” I was proud of myself for understanding the nearly incomprehensible, collective voice of that street, teaming with young people who, though mostly strangers to each other, were bonded that night by a passionate sense of nationality. From the sounds of glee that erupted when a goal was blocked, I thought France has scored a countless number of times. And when a French goal was close to being made but sorely missed, the agony felt by those around me could be tasted in the air, like thick molasses. I loved everything about that night, although we tied zero to zero. I say we because I was, of course, French that night.
We migrated inside of a bar halfway through the game, and as soon as the game ended, flares were lit in the street and the world took on a coat of dusty red fire. There was more shouting, a lot of pushing, a lot of laughing. I never for a moment felt unsafe. I was simply enormously mesmerized by the power of a game to create such turmoil. I can only wonder what would have happened that night if France had won. But to celebrate the tie, we went out dancing.
At 5:40 early Friday morning, a few of my friends and I met downstairs in time to catch our 6:54 am train to Paris. Standing there at the bus stop, in the calm quiet that precedes the busyness of day, I watched the world turn from grey to blue. I gazed at our dorm building, at Le Catho, at the pretty little houses lining Boulevard Vauban, and I said my own silent farewell to Lille.
Being back in Raleigh is good, but disorienting. I must have had a mini coma Friday night, because I slept for 20 hours. Try explaining that.
I periodically remember little things about Lille, like the colloquial use of military time, the little Boulangerie down the street, a friend’s harmonica that sounded like a lost soul. I will always remember my time in France, Amsterdam, and Belgium as a marvelous 5 weeks that challenged me and taught me patience, and introduced me to some of the world’s greatest beauty. I will be forever thankful for this opportunity, and forever humbled by the people I met throughout all of my travels.
À bientôt Europe. You will now and forever more, be a part of me.
On Wednesday night we had our farewell dinner with everyone from the European Summer Program at Omnia, at 9 Rue Esquermoise. The restaurant was absolutely gorgeous, with semi-grand staircases connecting its 3 floors and intricate molding everywhere. To give it an even greater air of mystery, it used to be the first legal brothel in Lille! How very historic. We were seated on the top floor, which had impossibly high ceilings, a large screen on one wall, and an overall feeling of extravagance. On the table were red and white wines to sample, but I sipped my own (soda) in an equally fancy, thin-stemmed glass. We were served a delicious cheese quiche as an appetizer, and it was one of the greatest things I’ve eaten. It was heartbreaking when I nibbled the last bite, truly. We were then served a salmon cake topped with mashed potatoes for the main course, and tiramisu for desert. The French sure do say farewell with a bang.
The program directors played a video for us recapping the memories of the last month, during which the large screen flickered regrettably off of a replay of one of the World Cup games. Beats me if I know who was playing. It was a very pleasant dinner, followed by the long walk back from La Grand Place to our dorms. It’s about 25 minutes, although it didn’t seem quite so long that night.
After the brothel dinner, I went out with the gang to watch the France vs. Ecuador game. I figured it would be a sin to be in Europe at the time of the World Cup and not go out and experience the craze! We found a screening outside of a bar off of Rue Nationale. The size of the crowd was disproportional to the size of the screen, which didn’t seem to be a problem at all. Somehow we were pushed to the middle of the crowd, and I felt myself surrounded by this incredible sphere of energy. Often, one half of the crowd would yell “Nous sommes les français”, and the other half would shout “et nous allons ganger!” I was proud of myself for understanding the nearly incomprehensible, collective voice of that street, teaming with young people who, though mostly strangers to each other, were bonded that night by a passionate sense of nationality. From the sounds of glee that erupted when a goal was blocked, I thought France has scored a countless number of times. And when a French goal was close to being made but sorely missed, the agony felt by those around me could be tasted in the air, like thick molasses. I loved everything about that night, although we tied zero to zero. I say we because I was, of course, French that night.
We migrated inside of a bar halfway through the game, and as soon as the game ended, flares were lit in the street and the world took on a coat of dusty red fire. There was more shouting, a lot of pushing, a lot of laughing. I never for a moment felt unsafe. I was simply enormously mesmerized by the power of a game to create such turmoil. I can only wonder what would have happened that night if France had won. But to celebrate the tie, we went out dancing.
At 5:40 early Friday morning, a few of my friends and I met downstairs in time to catch our 6:54 am train to Paris. Standing there at the bus stop, in the calm quiet that precedes the busyness of day, I watched the world turn from grey to blue. I gazed at our dorm building, at Le Catho, at the pretty little houses lining Boulevard Vauban, and I said my own silent farewell to Lille.
Being back in Raleigh is good, but disorienting. I must have had a mini coma Friday night, because I slept for 20 hours. Try explaining that.
I periodically remember little things about Lille, like the colloquial use of military time, the little Boulangerie down the street, a friend’s harmonica that sounded like a lost soul. I will always remember my time in France, Amsterdam, and Belgium as a marvelous 5 weeks that challenged me and taught me patience, and introduced me to some of the world’s greatest beauty. I will be forever thankful for this opportunity, and forever humbled by the people I met throughout all of my travels.
À bientôt Europe. You will now and forever more, be a part of me.