azerty is now qwertz on the keyboard.

It's roughly 5 km or 3.2 miles to the hostel I stayed at for the evening my first night in Nancy. It was the first legitimate one I've been to thusfar. A stand alone building in the middle of a giant field near some schools. It even had Chateau in the name! Anyhow, after much duress in trying to figure out where my room was located, (the lady wrote a four digit number down and told me it was for my <<chambre>>... when she really meant it was the <<mot de passe>> for the front entrance.) I was off to go find some food.

Leaving the front gates a car begins frantically honking at me. I turn to find a gentile looking older man motioning for me to come to the car. I first glanced down at the side of the car to see it was hostel property. He rolls down the window and asks where I'm going. Like beggars I mentioned in the last post, I proclaimed <<J'ai faim!>> and told him I was headed for the centre ville for a restaurant for a bite. As we're heading to the center of Nancy, I come to find his name is Georges and that he loves America, (but hates our stinking president!!!) We finish up short life stories before he pulls up to his apartment and we part ways.

I had made it three blocks down the road before I hear my name shouted over and over. It was Georges. I made a mental check trying to figure out what I may have left with him. As it would turn out, he wanted me to join him and his family for dinner. I gladly accepted back it was toward the apartment. His wife cooking dinner, and his son and daughter laughing and playing in the other room. He asked me if I needed to check email to write to home and ushered me to the computer. Léna, their 10 year old, not to be confused with Yelena from the last CS host I had, just started her english classes in school. From time to time she would come up bashfully and start practicing her english. It diffused into reciting lines from Disney movies with the accompanying gestures. "My name is Simba!" When I would say something like "very good" she'd repeat it with the utmost excitement.

Georges showed me his extensive collection of American music on two separate 300 gig (I'm guessing here. It could be more) hard drives. Among his favorites were the Beach Boys, JJ Cale, and Crosby Stills and Nash. I had to subdue my chuckle at the Beach Boys, because it's the one band I always assume people in other countries listen to in that age range.

Since this was the first meal I'd eaten with an entirely French family I was a bit nervous. I wasn't sure what to expect with table manners and so forth. My fears were quickly laid to rest as the meal progressed as any I had before. Talk progressed in both french and english to keep the children up to speed. I still cannot for the life of me conjugate verbs in the past tense, save -er verbs. Your -re, -oir, -ir and irregular verbs? Forget about it. I've just been speaking in the present and just adding in other words to kind of give an idea of what I'm talking about. I just ran out of time in my french cram session at home and it mostly definitely shows.

Before I left the apartment, Georges pulled out a pass with his photograph on it. "You like concerts Andrew. And there is this concert in the park Pepinière. With your bald head and my bald head we look similar if you show this to them quick. Take this pass and have fun tonight Andrew. If anyone questions it, just say <<Quoi? C'est moi!>>. There are lots of beautiful women! Go!" He'd just let me borrow his VIP pass to Jazz Pulsations, that festival I had seen on the flyers when I first arrived in Nancy. The only condition was to bring it to him at the hostel in the morning when he would start his shift.

It would also turn out that I would have to walk through Stanistilas Place (where that teacher strike deal went down) earlier that day to get to le Parc du Pepinière. Before that happened, I had followed the wrong crowd and ended up at a different park that had a giant tent for the circus. So much going on in Nancy that week!

Anyhow, I made it to the park. Seeping into the night. The music growing louder and absolutely no line as it was 10 p.m. at that point. I flashed my newly aquired badge and *BAMF*, no questions asked, I was in. I came in the middle of a violin solo. A giant sheet illuminated with a red lens from behind so you could make out the silhouette of the fellow playing. Marvelous. It was there, in the middle of the French swarm, around all these faces filled with delight. I finally realized where I´ve been these last few weeks. Carolina Surla always makes mention of "high" moments in her music watching career. And while I´ve had a few, I can most definitely say that was the most intense.

The band joined in and played songs incorporating bluegrass, disco, and others. After an hour and a half set, (that I saw) the crowd wouldn't budge. Thus!!! They played nearly another set´s worth of songs before retiring for the evening.

Now it would be all well and good to just leave it at that and call it a night, but I realized some signs in this designated area that read, "BAR VIP". The card I had been carrying also had that read across the sides. I decided it was time to push my luck. I walked up like it was a hassle to have to show the card and ended up where the band trailers and this giant open air bar were. It was all suits, cackling and clinking glasses in this bamboo filled room. It was one of those times where if I played my cards right I could have ended up tallying up a major bill on some poor shmucks tab. After seeing all there was to be seen, however, I called it and walked again to the hostel. Unfortunately for me it was late enough that the buses had retired for the evening.

The following day was spent waiting for Georges to return to work so I could return his badge. In the waiting room the cross-eyed fellow from Senegal I´d met the day before decided he would engage me in a discussion about my planche. He knew very little English, and it took a good 20 minutes to get him to comprehend what I was talking about. Hand gestures, poorly drawn maps and clarification using my limited french it was done. Everyone gets that it´s for the sand, but I have to emphasize "decendre" when talking about the Dune du Pilat. Supposedly I should be hearing from him via email so he can practice writing English.

Georges came in around 10 and was thrilled that I had a good evening. I sent him off with 1 Fish, 2 Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish for his daughter and my many thanks for his random generosity.

It was then off to my CS host for the next few days, Michael (19). I had forgotten that he´d never hosted anyone before and that he´d only surfed other people´s couches. This showed when it came to preparing these massive meals and being overly concerned with how comfortable I was in his home. But, fortunately he pointed me in the direction of Metz, capital of Lorraine.

From the moment one pushes through the doors of the Gare de Metz the centre ville extends an open palm. Now some could make the argument that travelling hand in hand with Metz is similar to walking an untrained and highly curious canine. Every turn of the way unleashing a slew of tantalizing aromas to explore. When all is said and done, you´re rubbing your shoulders from all the leash tugs.

Your irises will rot from all the eye candy Metz has to offer in its shop. Clocktower Crispies (Now with fewer flying buttresses) Pristine Parc Puffs, and Wonderous Waterwafers to name a few. Metz is the captain of the football team; knows seven different languages; can read Prust in the original French and force a watched pot to boil. Paris wishes she could tie her shoes.

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Today I am in Dortmund, Germany after having spent a good part of the day passing through Luxembourg, Düsseldörf, and a few others. I´m just getting settled at my host´s for the next two nights. Irini (23) and her flatmates are taking me in so I can go to a concert tomorrow.

I´ve had most of this written for the past few days. I just got booted off in one of the Cyber Cafes prematurely.

Oh yeah, everything so far is 10 - 15 percent cheaper here. A very good sign.

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