The Penultimate Wlog: on French historical methods, NASA, orienteering, Christmas decorations, and a few other things

Long have I traveled and far have I searched for the best facts, peculiraties and mysteries to present to my loyal fan base. My investigative travails, methodical, have prevented me from publishing a Wlog in the past, uh, three weeks (or so). Nevertheless I believe the result is a more fulfilling Wlog for everyone. I present Wlog #42. Oh, and I have decided that, for ease of pronunciation, the “W” in Wlog should be pronounced as a German would say the “W” in “Wasser”; that is, as a rough english V. I cannot make a direct change from W to V, for, as every body knows, a “Vlog” has nothing to do with the literary heights acheived in this Wlog. Indeed, to further differentiate a Wlog from its audio-visual cousin, Wlog should be pronounced, in its entirety, with a German accent [1]. Jawol!

Nigh three weeks ago, I went on an orienteering expedition into the French wilderness, the region of Correze. The expedition, organized by the University, was marked by good vibes, baguettes and pine trees. The sport of orienteering, originally developed in Scandanavia in the early 20th century, is in essence a scavenger hunt on an epic scale. Given only a map and a compass, a participant must find each beacon labeled on their map. These are no ordinary maps. Terrain contours, vegetation types, human-made objects, notable boulders, notable trees, vegetation density, ditches, fences and a few more things are all packed onto a trusty 8 and a half by 11. A line of trees, a valley, a ditch, even a closely followed contour line can all serve like a trail, especially when trails can be a little hard to come by. The skill, apart from having a good sense of direction and ability to translate the map into one’s immediate surroundings, involves choosing a good “point d’attaque” before charging into a dense wood looking for a beacon. This could be the turn of a path, a boulder or a bench, a defined point on the map to return to if you get lost, which (for me) happens frequently. A good orienteer-er will also be able to choose between staying on a path, an easy traversal if not always the most direct, and running pell-mill through the underbrush, jumping streams and fallen logs in an attempt to shave a few meters off the route, but potentially getting a little lost in the process. I never got catastrophically lost, however, in our group one guy accidentally ran into a private forest before hurriedly running out the other way, pursued by some (friendly?) hunting dogs; another mistook one field for another and suddenly found himself in the middle of a farm. I have said it before, and I will say it again: orienteering is not for the faint of heart, nor those who fail to pack enough socks.

I have also, through orienteering, learned a good bit of French vocabulary. Beyond the basics (“point d’attaque” = point of attaque, “coupe!” = cut), a few notables:

• Galérer – to struggle or have a hard time
• Borne – marker, boundary stone
• Ronce – stickerbush, bramble
• Ligne de vege – Veggy line. Or, vegetation line.
• Ruisseau – Stream
• Le catastrophe – A disaster, but used “it was THE disaster”, not just any disaster.
• “Ça a été?” – Was everything ok | | You made it out alright?

Having survived my expedition and thoroughly discussed the healthcare system of the United States and France with a couple medical students I was rooming with, the adventure continued. And this time, instead of being lost in the rural French wilderness, I was lost in a very dense text from a 18th century German diplomat to the court of Versailles. Indeed, on the Wednesday of the 4th of December, Will Gleason went 2 rounds with the French system of testing. No fault is to be given to the esteemed Ezechiel Spanheim, who gave a fascinating outsider’s perspective on the absolutist reign of Louis XIV. I will deal out some fault, however, to the French historical system. I give warning: the following rant is born of cultural difference, and the two systems, American and French, likely have a good bit to learn from one another. I present the French system: under the French system of teaching history, it is only by gaining an encyclopedic knowledge of a given historical period that a historian can begin to make original arguments. Dates to the month and day; wars, certainly, as well as the treaties that ended them; books that influenced the period and the authors that wrote them; and so on. The accumulation of facts begins and sustains the French pedagolocial process. Analysis is a distant goal held by the professor, rather than an immediate tool for a student to understand the period. The end result is, I imagine, a very knowledgeable student. A student that would know perfectly well the date at which Louix XIV welcomed the Ambassador of Siam to Versailles (1686), as well as the name of the treaty putting an end to the War of Devolution (the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle). A student that, I’ll admit, does not correlate entirely to the bloodied and battered figure of Will Gleason, going two rounds with the French system of testing. However! I offer my rebuttal: those two facts, which I’ll admit I don’t know off the top of my head, are readily accesible with a few keystrokes. What is more important is what the War of Devolution and the visit of the ambassador of Siam to Versailles meant for the reign of Louis XIV and Europe in general. That, I believe, is far more useful, both as a life skill and as a gift to the historical community. And yet, when the world ends, the internet switch is flipped and an alien comes to me and asks: “When did the Cardinal Mazarin, steward of the French throne, pass from this earth?” I will stutter, mutter and be summarily plasted into a million bits of ignorance. “The ninth of March, 1661, swine!”, they will say over my smoldering remains.

Along with the French System of Testing, the French System of Striking has defined the last few weeks. For those seeking an excellent breakdown (as well as an excellent response by a French person in the comments), I would highly recommend looking at my sister’s Facebook post on the subject. This would also be an excellent opportunity to friend my sister on Facebook. I’ll vouch for you. In essence, the French government wishes to replace an old system of retirement with a new one. The new system, based on points, would apply the same rules to everyone, except those in strenous jobs (police, fire, military). However, by standardizing the system, the government is reducing the privileges of teachers, notably, who will earn less on their pensions. Also, the new system would require people to work longer. This is the most I have been able to make of the matter, which is terrifyingly complicated for a foreigner. The Poitiers strike scene has been muted. Vitalis, the bus network, went on strike the 5th. They went off strike the next day, but a group of other strikers had blockaded the entrance to the bus depot, creating momentary excitement until the police came. Other than this, the only direct impact the strike has had on my daily existence has been the looming menace of traveling through Paris en route to my flight. An upcoming adventure! A few of my classes have been cancelled, but nothing more exciting than that.

In other news, the French have lately began to wear a great deal of NASA shirts. I don’t know why. Within the past month or so, the American space ministry has seen a shocking rise in popularity. It’s not like they’ve been doing much to gain all that attention. Perhaps it’s ongoing support for the Mars rover? Unbridled excitement for the human exploration of Mars, scheduled for 2039? Perhaps it is my ignorance, perhaps it is Elon Musk’s promotional talents, but I would place my money on Space X getting there first. Likely with a bunch of billionaires in the backseat.

The French have also put up a great deal of Christmas decorations. Downtown, nearly every street has some twinkly lights strung across it. Michael Buble bubbles from hidden speakers, inescapable. At the library, the bannisters are decked out in sparkly LED’s, and there are 13 christmas trees on the ground floor alone. It’s a veritable coniferous forest down there! A notable difference with the United States would be a lack of Santa imagery, or Santa in general; although he does have a seat in the mall. It’s always empty though, and people like to sit in it. In France, you are your own Santa.

The Christmas vibes have me missing home, and yet, the short time I have left here has me preemptively missing France. Specifics as to what I will miss will likely only become apparent in their absence, when I return to the US. I have spent the last weeks madly seeking new running trails, desperate to chart as much of the Poitiers running scene as I can. In the spirit of orienteering, I may just make a map of the trails and noteable points I have found in Poitiers during my pedestrian adventures. A memoire masquerading as a running guide. Who knows!

I will at least have left my mark on France. The last two weeks, I have been sharing the wonders of quick breads with my host family. Apparently, the use of baking soda in cooking is not nearly as popular in France as it is in the United States. Suffice to say, I felt pretty special bestowing the wonder of banana bread upon my host family, specifically, Tom Douglas’ recipe. We may very well make it to pancakes by the end of my stay, though matters are complicated by the lack of buttermilk in France. Though I could employ the vinegar and milk tactic, my suggestion of doing so was met with considerable wrinkling of the nose. My host family’s confidence in American cooking techniques only goes so far.

With that, I don’t know what else to tell you.

Have some pictures, fiend!