l'Entrée de la Ville

One of the most vivid way to understand the history of Nevers is by studying architecture and monuments. Nevers is a city that (barring the Roman era, from which we have only archeological remains and not architectural ones) was constructed in more or less three waves: the first, in the middle ages-renaissance with the Palais Ducal and Cathedral, the second, in the second half of the nineteenth century with Hausman-style bourgeois immeubles (apartment buildings), and the third, beginning after the second world war with more suburban-style individual houses. The contrasts between the architectural styles of these periods is quite stark, especially, once one is aware of them. The division between the quartiers (neighborhoods) is nette (neat, clear, distinct), and it's easy to tell when you're passing from one to the next.

The river traverses, and thus joins, the three kinds of quartiers. In Nevers, two ponts (bridges) represent the two more recent eras of development, the romantic period and the contemporary period. For what remains of the medieval period, however, one se demande (asks oneself) how people arrived in the town. Well, one of the tourist landmarks is the Porte de Croux (literally the door of Croux-- I still haven't been able to figure out exactly what this means). This "door" is a kind of entryway to the city with an arch. The tourist plaque in front of it explains that it was a symbol of welcome to the city. Of course, the plaque goes on to say that it was equipped with all of the latest defense mechanisms for the time period, including towers, arrow holes, and speared gates. The Porte de Croux is a complex of two arches, which, during the medieval period were separated by a moat, as far as I can understand from drawings I've seen. The first arch was meant to protect against military advancements such as boulets de fonte (melting cannonballs, what I imagine to be made out of still hot iron).

While the presence of these arches doesn't explain the problem of how to ford the river during the medieval period, it does serve to mark the beginning of the medieval quartier. Once you pass through, or next to, la Porte de Croux, you have no question as to where you are. Inside the ruins of the old remparts (ramparts, or city walls), you feel the 600 year-old history of the neighborhood, which, on by means of its slopped streets, leads to the top of the butte (hilltop) where the Cathédrale and Palais ducal dominate.

A walk along the remparts down to the river never fails to take me out of my present time, worries, and projects, even if only for the short instance it takes to notice the curious and perpetual shade of grey that colors the low-hanging sky and its ever-present clouds. The other day, while walking this route, I decided to read the little tourist placards I just mentioned. While glancing over them, I made a very happy discovery: the drawing of the two arches during the medieval period is accredited to one Charles Bossu! Recognize the name? It's the man after whom my street is named! I now have a stronger affinity for Général Bossu, and aspire to, like him, one day have a sketch of mine grace a tourist plaque, ensuring me a long legacy and eternal renown. I also am feeling more and more attached to this peculiar netherworld with its doom and gloom. Although I'm leaving tomorrow for a trip to the states, I'll be looking forward, in some inexplicable way, to retrouver (go back to) this dreamworld.

Biscuits dans la poche

I have to admit that, for me, the arrival of l'hiver (winter) in Never has not been tout à fait appréciée (exactly appreciated). It's not that it's particularly froid (cold), but it does rain a lot here, and it's always gris et nuageux (grey and cloudy). That said, while the weather and the fact that I didn't know many people kept me from going out at night for a while, I'm now perfectly used to it, and a stroll at any time of day is always le bienvenue (welcome). After having had la grippe (the flu) and being scolded for wearing petite chaussures ("little shoes"- mostly ballerina flats), ça y est (there it is), I'm wearing boots, thick scarves, and warm jackets. I've learned to cover up and am now in the habit of doing it. And, if it's raining, which it often is, I'm not too proud to take the bus on occasion, granted that I have 1.10 euros to spare.

So a week ago at church choir practice, I was feeling particularly sociable, wanting to combat l'arrivée d'hiver (the arrival of winter) by giving back in some way to the community that had welcomed me. When Collette, the woman who was sitting next to me at rehearsal, thought that I didn't know "Angles We Have Heard on High," I accepted graciously her singing directly into my ear. Then, when she was asking if anyone in the group could help her watch a video using her DVD player that myseteriously wasn't putting an image on her TV screen, I immediately offered to help. I thought that I've spent maybe too much time wondering what Nevers could offer me and not enough time thinking about what I could offer to Nevers. Besides, when the cold and darkness come with winter, it is certainly the time to tendre la main aux autres (extend your hand to others, or help them out). I agreed to come over to Collette's house after my classes on Tuesday afternoon, and she said she would be around, that she wasn't going out at all. I wrote down her address and promised to see her the following day to solve her technical problem, laughing to myself since I know that I'm not the best technical engineer the world has ever seen.

The following day, it was cold and rainy, as could be expected a Tuesday in December in Nevers. I had class later than I thought, so I left the lycée (high school) at 4pm, headed for centre ville. I wasn't sure where Collette's house was, so I stopped at one of the large city maps that are posted on the sidewalk downtown and reached for the paper on which I had written her address. Mince!(Darn!) J'avais oublié le papier chez moi- c'est pas vrai ! (I had forgotten the paper at my house- that can't be true!) I scanned the neighborhood where I knew Collette lived, and managed to find her street thanks to memory recall, and I headed in her direction. I had to consult another map along the way to make sure I was sure to end up in the right place-- the area was quite nice and mostly populated not with private residences but with cabinets de médecin et d'avocat (doctors' and lawyers' offices). But, before I knew it, I had found 3, rue de l'évêché, and sonnais à la porte (was ringing the doorbell).

Colette opened the door, m'a fait la bise (gave me two air kisses, the standard and warm greeting for friends). She invited me in, out of the cold, and introduced me Marie-Josèphe, who was helping her pay some bills, or clean the house, or some other little household chore. Then, suddenly, the real culture jolt began. Nevermind the bourgeois neighborhood, the well-kept house entirely decorated in beautiful antiques, or the bises for greeting, the old-lady assessment of a young woman is something typically french. As a foreigner in this country, I have an adoptive mother in every woman I meet. Really. These women couldn't resist commenting on how pretty I was, but that my pretty outfit lacked some warmth. I pointed out my boots, socks, tights, double skirt, wool sweater and scarf, which had been topped with a hooded coat, a hat, and a pair of gloves, but they said that I was practically nude and ready to catch cold if I went outside even two minutes dressed the way I was. They of course then wanted to know my life story and listened in awe as I spoke of Florida and university in America. Marie-Josèphe was particularly astounded by my ability to speak french. She herself had never succeeded in gaining knowledge in any foreign languages.

For these ladies, everything was a cause for concern regarding my health. They asked if I could help play the DVD they wanted to watch, and when I successfully switched the TV to the auxillary channel, they called my douée (gifted). They were sure that I was a bit mentally perturbed by all of the knowledge I had. Once the DVD, a recording of a nationally televised mass filmed in Nevers this summer, was playing, it was time to s'installer (settle in) and discuter (converse). Collette offered me something to drink. I asked if she had any tea, which sent her eyes directly in search of the clock. It was 5 pm. "At this late hour? You won't be able to sleep!" I told her I didn't think it was too late, and Marie-Josèphe ironically took my side, saying, "In any case, she's young, she doesn't sleep at all." So, although Collette would rather have served me an alcoholic apératif, I got a hot cup of tea. Well, a cup of hot water and my choice of about 10 varieties of tea. While waiting for the tea to cool down, Collette put herself to work being a host. She went to search me some cookies, even though I told her I wasn't hungry and that I had even eaten a little dessert with lunch. She would have none of my protestations, though, insisting, "Oui, d'accord, mais le dessert est déjà loin !" ("Yes, ok, but dessert was already a long time ago!"). She took out a box of cookies and I timidly put one on my saucer. I really didn't feel like having one.

As we chatted, Collette finished her tea and realized I still had some left. There was some debate as to whether or not we should make more tea, and then Collette realized that maybe I had somewhere to be, and that it was starting to get late. She asked how I was going to go home, and I assured her that I'd be taking the bus, knowing full well in my head that I preferred to take the 20-25 minute walk home. She watched as I bundled back up, and she worried about whether it was raining or if it were too dark outside. I assured her I'd be fine. Then we exchanged numbers, just in case, and I was ready to go. Or almost. Collette offered me some cookies to take with me, "pour casser la croûte" (to break the crust, or to whet one's appetite), as Marie-Josèphe said. I declined, saying that I would really be fine, but Collette insisted. She took a napkin, unfolded it, put a few cookies inside, wrapped them carefully, and tucked the little packet (package) directly in the pocket of my jacket. She then gave me la bise again and showed me to the door, telling me to faire attention (be careful) and prendre soin de moi (take care of myself). I had spent a nice hour in her little house, where at one point I was pretty sure I was never going to arrive.

In walking towards my house, I decided to see if there were, par hasard (by chance), any buses coming soon. It was actually starting to get dark, and it still hadn't stopped drizzling. As I approached l'arrêt de bus (the bus stop), the bus I needed was pulling up, so I ran to hop on. I paid my 1.10 euros and found a seat near the back. As the bus pulled away, I felt the petit packet (little package) in my pocket. I took it out, unwrapped the cookies, and ate one. I was a bit hungry, too. I watched the rues mouillées (wet streets) warm and dry from the window of the bus and thought about taking care of myself. The world, at winter time, can be a difficult place, but les gens sont peuvent souvent être gentils (people can often be nice). It's important to take care of oneself, especially quand il fait froid et la pluie est à rentrer dedans (when it's cold and the rain gets everywhere. So as Nevers brings its winter gloom-- grey, cold, and rainy-- I will be thinking of Collette and taking care of others and myself. I think that those places where the environment is the least comfortable, the people have a bigger capacity for dealing with inconveniences. My way will be having tea with cookies when I need to get warm and making sure to lend a hand when I can be of use.

Grosses bises !