This is just a brief update to let everyone know that I am well. Thanksgiving was fine, Katie visited from Angers, we got dressed up and went out to dinner. More on that another time. The transit strike has basically gone out with a whimper... again. The student protests are continuing on. They just voted to blockade Malesherbes, where I have most of my classes. Luckily I don't have any classes there today. They'll vote today to decide if they will blockade tomorrow. If they do, I won't know until I get there at 8 AM.
People in the US seem to know more about these riots on the outskirts of Paris than I do, which should tell you just how little they are affecting me.
I went to an orientation for a possible job last night. The guy was insane, but I liked him. I would be teaching English conversation classes to nerdy French computer programming students. The only hitch is that I need to get someone from Tulane to sign a French internship agreement. I'm working on that.
So now I am off to Grammar class, where I will get my midterm back. It should be a nice fat A. Then translation, then home. Starting tomorrow, I have a girl staying with me for a few nights, so that should be fun. Also, it turns out that a girl I went to high school with is going to be living in the Fondation next semester! Cool. And I am coming home for Christmas in 24 days. All is well.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Steeeeerike
Just a brief update before I (try to) go to Swedish class. France is broken.
Strikes, strikes, and more strikes.
Strikes, strikes, and more strikes.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
"It's gonna take you and the police department and the fire department and the National Guard to get me outta here!"
The French are striking. Again.
This seems to be strike week. One sector strikes, and all the other decide to jump on the bandwagon. We begin with the still-unhappy railroad workers, move on to outraged students, and finish with civil servants. We also randomly saw the Communist Party marching in the streets today.
The railroad strike is very similar to the last one. No trains running, causing over 350 km of traffic jams. We walked forty minutes to one of our classes yesterday morning, but that was the only one we could conceivably get to on foot, so now we have the rest of the week off. Fun? Sort of, except we can’t get anywhere. Vaune and Jen and I had lunch at a Chinese place on the way home to reward ourselves.
We also have students protesting and blockading buildings. They are protesting against “La loi d’autonomie universitaire” or “La loi Pécresse.” This flyer outlines the problems with this law:
Let me translate some of them for you.
At the bottom, in the dark grey, it says:
I didn’t go to this General Assembly, as it was between my Swedish class and my Grammar and History of Language Class. It did, however, rain that day, and so apparently the General Assembly was held in the Grand Amphi, which happens to be where my Grammar and History of Language Class is. Quelle coïncidence! So I copied down some of the points written on the blackboard:
Translation:
You have to keep in mind that both the flyer and those points are for one building. Granted, it is a building with a lot of students who have all or almost all of their classes there, but it is one building. This isn’t even university-wide organization, and they are talking about solidarity with other social movements and national coordination? Please.
Students protesting in Rennes (where Carolyn goes to school)
Now, a lot of these are valid fears, especially this whole thing with various enterprises getting involved in the academic process. But a few things jump out at me:
1. Private funding - TUITION??
2. Universities that are not all exactly the same and sometimes have different specialties and independent from the government!! Crazy talk.
3. “Presidentalization” - maybe then French universities would have some semblance of organization! This is heresy.
4. Applying to university! Ohs nos!
Any of this sound familiar? I mean, not to say that the U.S. secondary education system is perfect, but I’d say it works pretty well. My favorite complaint is the last one. French students don’t have to pay for university and they don’t have to apply (unless they go to one of the few Grandes Ecoles). No wonder the middle school students we saw in Angers were so misbehaved. They have absolutely no incentive to work hard. Maybe having to apply and/or pay for university would give them some incentive to actually do something and graduate instead of being perpetual students. There are fifty year old students in my classes because anyone can enroll at any time, but there are 30 year old students in my class because there is absolutely no incentive to finish on time.
On a side note, this makes me wonder where all of my Tulane tuition is going, since the Sorbonne is free… Some of it must have gone to CIDEF (classes, food, host family, excursions), some of it is our activities money, and some if it I think I get back at the end of the year… but that just doesn’t account for all of it. Where does it go?
In summary: Go students! Blockade! Protest influence by enterprises! But come on. Applying for college is not that bad. I mean, I got in, didn’t I?
This seems to be strike week. One sector strikes, and all the other decide to jump on the bandwagon. We begin with the still-unhappy railroad workers, move on to outraged students, and finish with civil servants. We also randomly saw the Communist Party marching in the streets today.
The railroad strike is very similar to the last one. No trains running, causing over 350 km of traffic jams. We walked forty minutes to one of our classes yesterday morning, but that was the only one we could conceivably get to on foot, so now we have the rest of the week off. Fun? Sort of, except we can’t get anywhere. Vaune and Jen and I had lunch at a Chinese place on the way home to reward ourselves.
We also have students protesting and blockading buildings. They are protesting against “La loi d’autonomie universitaire” or “La loi Pécresse.” This flyer outlines the problems with this law:
Let me translate some of them for you.
-A change in the level of funding for university, with the encouragement of private funding and the lessening of public funding, which leads to a dependence of universities on enterprises
-An inequality between establishments, in terms of regions (which offers more or fewer job opportunities) and fields of study (meaning, for example, that they are dedicated to social studies or hard sciences)
-A loss of pedagogic autonomy, with the possibility of “purchasing” a seat on the Administrative Council by enterprises that fund the university and that therefore put pressure on the curriculum, the offer of education, and research guidelines.
-A “presidentialization” of universities, meaning a concentration of power in the hands of the president and a lessening of student representation (fewer representatives in the Administrative Council)
-A risk of disappearance of fields (of study?) that cannot gain a profit, by the presence of representatives of enterprises in the Administrative Council as well as by the liberty accorded by the State to each establishment in terms of the creation of departments/majors; a university funded by enterprises and therefore subjected to their interests would not favor curricula that the enterprise deemed “unprofitable.”
-A risk of instituting “selection for university entry,” notably by the system of “pre-registration” (high school students now have to send a file to the universities they want to go to before registering).
At the bottom, in the dark grey, it says:
To fight against this law being put into use, the universities of Rouen, Toulouse, Rennes 2, Lille 3, Perpignan, Tolbiac and Clignancourt are blockaded. At Malesherbes, the question of blockading will be the order of the day of the General Assembly of the 13th November at noon in the courtyard. Come en masse!
I didn’t go to this General Assembly, as it was between my Swedish class and my Grammar and History of Language Class. It did, however, rain that day, and so apparently the General Assembly was held in the Grand Amphi, which happens to be where my Grammar and History of Language Class is. Quelle coïncidence! So I copied down some of the points written on the blackboard:
-Referendum pour ou contre l’abrogation de la loi?
-Appel à la manifestation du 20 nov? [ADOPTE] 14 nov? [ADOPTE]
-Solidarité avec les autres mouvements sociaux?
-Coordination nationale?
-Créaton d’un comité d’étudiants de Paris IV - Malesherbes? (réflexion sur la loi sans blocage)
-Blocage de Paris IV - Malesherbes - Que les jours de manif?
-Rassemblement devant l’assemblée le vendredi 16 nov?
Translation:
-Referendum for or against repealing the law?
-Call to protest Nov 20? [ADOPTED] Nov 14? [ADOPTED]
-Solidarity with other social movements?
-National coordination?
-Creation of a student committee for Paris IV - Malesherbes? (Discussion of the law without blockading)
-Blockading of Paris IV - Malesherbes - only days of protests?
-Gathering before the Assembly on Friday Nov 16?
You have to keep in mind that both the flyer and those points are for one building. Granted, it is a building with a lot of students who have all or almost all of their classes there, but it is one building. This isn’t even university-wide organization, and they are talking about solidarity with other social movements and national coordination? Please.
Students protesting in Rennes (where Carolyn goes to school)
Now, a lot of these are valid fears, especially this whole thing with various enterprises getting involved in the academic process. But a few things jump out at me:
1. Private funding - TUITION??
2. Universities that are not all exactly the same and sometimes have different specialties and independent from the government!! Crazy talk.
3. “Presidentalization” - maybe then French universities would have some semblance of organization! This is heresy.
4. Applying to university! Ohs nos!
Any of this sound familiar? I mean, not to say that the U.S. secondary education system is perfect, but I’d say it works pretty well. My favorite complaint is the last one. French students don’t have to pay for university and they don’t have to apply (unless they go to one of the few Grandes Ecoles). No wonder the middle school students we saw in Angers were so misbehaved. They have absolutely no incentive to work hard. Maybe having to apply and/or pay for university would give them some incentive to actually do something and graduate instead of being perpetual students. There are fifty year old students in my classes because anyone can enroll at any time, but there are 30 year old students in my class because there is absolutely no incentive to finish on time.
On a side note, this makes me wonder where all of my Tulane tuition is going, since the Sorbonne is free… Some of it must have gone to CIDEF (classes, food, host family, excursions), some of it is our activities money, and some if it I think I get back at the end of the year… but that just doesn’t account for all of it. Where does it go?
In summary: Go students! Blockade! Protest influence by enterprises! But come on. Applying for college is not that bad. I mean, I got in, didn’t I?
Snap Shots
So this is a lame and boring maintenance post. I just wanted to explain something that I just added to the site - “Snap Shots.” Basically, when you put your cursor over a link, a “snapshot” of where the link will take you is shown (like this). They have it on LiveJournal, which is where I got the idea. It annoyed me at first, but then I started to really like it. It’s especially cool for this blog because most of what I link to are Wikipedia articles, and Snap Shots has this thing where when you hover over a link for a Wikipedia article, it shows an interactive little Snap, including photos and links, (like this) which I think is awesome. It does other cool things, too, like play video right inside the window and show pictures, too, which I will continue to explore. However, I understand that not everyone will like this (it could be annoying to have little thingies popping up all over the place) so if you don’t want to see the Snap Shots, just hover over any link and then click the “Options” icon in the upper right corner and opt out.
This is an experiment - we’ll see how it works out.
Real post coming soon!
This is an experiment - we’ll see how it works out.
Real post coming soon!
Monday, November 12, 2007
"Come back like a resurrection..."
As promised, I am trying to write about the weekend with Samara with a bit more swiftitude (new word).
Many crazy things were packed into this one tiny weekend. Let me begin at the beginning.
Friday evening, Erin and I went to pick up Samara at Gare du Nord. We found her, and found our way back to the Métro, and all was well, until a random guy came up to as and started speaking English to us. This is not unusual when you are speaking English with your friends in Paris (Parisians have no sense of what is inappropriate in interactions with foreigners - they think anything goes), but it is still creepy and unwanted. And this guy soon revealed himself as being creepier than most. He started by saying, “What’s going on?” but we just ignored him. He took our pictures, and then started telling us, “Va te faire foutre,” which literally means, “Go f*** yourself,” over and over again. He was clearly unstable, but that doesn’t excuse random swearing at strangers. We got on the train and he followed us on, still shouting profanity in French and English, and then adding “f***” to the end of any word he knew in English, the most prominent one being “monkey.” He scared us. When he got off, we waited till the last minute to get off, too (because he got off at our stop) and then waited till two or three trains had come and gone and it was safe to assume that he was on some other train or out of the train station. Whew.
We headed back to Erin’s apartment, and then went out to get kebab. Mmm.
In France, "kebab" places do not serve shish kebab, as you might expect. Shish kebab is brochettes. "Kebab" is a bunch of shredded lamb stuffed into a giant bread thingy with lettuce, tomato, and sauce if you're lucky. And it is delicious.
On the métro. Samara's smoothie is bad. My kinder bueno is delicious.
Bein goofs
After kebab, we went to my room to use the internet, and watched a hilarious music video by “Petros.” Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is none other than my sixth-grade boyfriend, Peter Shields, playing pop star. Please listen to the lyrics. "I know you want my body, you know I think you're hot." Ah, young romance. Also, note tha Catholic guilt, and the lip curl that he has been practicing since elementary school.
I write with a mocking tone, and yet I must admit that this song has been stuck in my head for days and that I finally broke down and bought it from the iTunes music store. So he must be doing something right.
After that we decided to wander around the Marais. The first thing that happened was that we were walking around, and Erin was saying how people don’t really dress weird in France. Samara replied, “Except that guy,” pointing to a man dressed as a rabbit. Yeah, except that guy. We tried to take some clandestine pictures of him, and then decided to just walk up to him. He was trying to sell us some carrots for two euros. I get the feeling it was either some sort of promotion or social experiment. He made some vague allusions to carrot/phallus metaphors, but his main selling point was, “You are going to spend the money on drinks anyway, you might as well spend it on something that has vitamins in it.” He had a good point, although after taking several pictures of him and Erin, we bid him adieu.
"Why are you wearing that silly rabbit suit?"
"Why are you wearing that silly man suit?"
Hmm?
Bisous!
We were looking for a club of some sort, but didn’t really know where to look, and we ended up at a hookah bar. I am not generally into smoking of any sort, but hookah (Or “chicha,” in French) bothers me the least, and Erin and Samara thought it would be fun, so I let down my guard a little bit and joined in. I really enjoyed it (we chose apple flavored chicha), although looking back I have a feeling that it was actually the delicious mango juice that I had along with it that was so enjoyable. But it is a kind of nice social thing to do. Afterwards, Samara and Erin headed to Erin’s and I went home.
Trying out the hookah
Weirded out by the hookah
To me she looks like an odd kind of saxophonist
smokinnn (still weirded out)
Onward and upward
Erin pouring tea from high above, in true French fashion.
Chicha video! Soundtrack courtesy of Peter Shields.
Saturday morning I did laundry, and Erin and Samara came by around two. We lost track of time and so did not realize that it was three when we left, and 4:15 by the time Samara and I went into a restaurant at Denfert-Rochereau and she enjoyed her chocolate crêpes and mint sorbet and I enjoyed my café liégois ice cream (complete with whole, crunchy, coffee beans). This loss of time meant that we arrived at the Catacombs too late to go down, which was very sad. Samara went to look at a tiny Indian store, and I went home, leaving Erin and Samara to do their thang. Their thang included belly-dancing at Sacré Coeur and taking pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower.
These activities somehow took them until midnight, at which point they came to my room. Erin was endlessly amused by my Swedish textbook and asked me to read from it. I am sure my pronunciation is atrocious.
At 12:30 we got on the last RER. Erin went home, and Samara and I continued on to the Marais, where we were going to check out 3w Kafé, a new lesbian bar (all the cool dance clubs got closed down, so we had to settle for a bar with a tiny dance floor downstairs). When we got to the Saint-Paul Métro stop, we realized that Samara needed a new booklet of RATP tickets, so we went to the little kiosk. Which, of course, only takes change. And at 1 AM, the ticket counter was closed. So we dug through our wallets and somehow came up w/ 11€10 in change. What we did not know was that the machine will not accept more than 20 coins. After one failed attempt, we dumped all the change in my hand and picked through it for large coins, putting them in first. Eventually, we ended up using exactly 20 coins and got Samara her tickets, which she was going to need later, for our exciting (and frustrating) foray into the world of the Noctilien (Paris’ new night bus system).
We found our way to the bar with no trouble, and headed inside. It was completely packed, so we went downstairs to the “dance floor,” which was more like a glorified hallway. It was cozy, though, not cramped. It was really refreshing just to be there and to see all different kinds of girls, able to be themselves, without some of the pressures of patriarchy and heterosexism, just for the night, just inside those walls. For the most part, Samara and I just stood and people-watched, although eventually we found a place to put our stuff down and sort of attempted to dance. Samara was using belly-dancing moves, and I can’t dance for my life, so we looked semi-ridiculous, but we had a good time. At one point, this girl who had been staring at us came up and started talking to us. She was mostly there because she thought Samara looked interesting, but, oddly, she was mostly talking to me. About Samara. Samara had forgotten a lot of French, so I did a lot of translating this weekend, but this was definitely the weirdest. The girl kept saying how pretty Samara was, and how she couldn’t believe a girl that pretty could be single. She also kept telling me that it was impossible to be in a long-distance relationship. Hmmm. She asked Samara about her bangles (the weekend was continually punctuated by various people asking Samara about Goth apparel/belly-dance apparel), and just babbled to me oddly for a long time. Finally she went away, and we went back to being bad at dancing. She came up at the end of the night, and I think she wanted us to come w/ her and her friends to go dance somewhere else, but we politely declined.
We navigated the Noctilien home, getting off-track at one point (owing to the fact that the info online, on the maps, and at the actual stations were all different) but being too comfortable in our warm bus that was going in the wrong direction to get off. Finally we got on a bus that took us to Porte d’Orléans, which was the closest we could get to the Cité Universitaire. We walked down boulevard Jourdan, and ran into some guys asking us if we knew where the Cité Universitaire party was. I didn’t want to burst there bubble by telling them that at 4 AM, any party hosted by one of these buildings was most likely over, so I just told him I didn’t know. He asked if we lived in the Cité, and I told him I did and Samara was visiting. He got excited when I said I lived in the FEU, cause he lived there last year. He, too, asked Samara about her Goth garb, and if there was some underlying revendication. We were exhausted - so not in the mood to go into some philosophical discussion - so we begged off, but the guy (Damien) and I exchanged numbers - he is going to drop me a line next time he passes by the FEU. Always nice to make new friends.
At 4:30 AM, Samara and I collapsed into bed. That is a New Orleans bedtime, and I am way out of the habit. And I prefer it that way. So, no more 4:30 AM bedtimes anytime soon. We slept until TWO PM on Sunday. Vaune woke us up knocking on the door.
Samara wanted a croissant and a hot chocolate, so we went to the artisan boulangerie at Porte d’Orléans. On the tramway, a man stopped us and asked us if we spoke French. He leaned in and very quietly, very slowly (and very politely, to be fair) said the following:
“Je suis chrétien. Je sais qu’il y a des gens qui ne croient pas au Dieu. Si vous avez un peu de temps aujourd’hui, vous pouvez recevoir Dieu.”
Which means:
“I am a Christian. I know that there are people who do not believe in God. If you have a little time today, you can receive Him.”
I literally said, “Not today, thank you,” and we walked away. He told us to have a nice day, and said something like, “maybe next week.” I don’t think so. It was… not nice, but different, to have someone proselytizing politely. Someone actually exhibiting “Christian” behavior while trying to convert people to Christianity. Of course, it was still weird and inappropriate.
After buying way too many pastries, we came back to my room and collapsed until it was time to leave. We got to the station early and went across the street to get pizza first. After pizza, we went to the Eurostar terminal and hugged and bisous’d goodbye, and Samara was on her way.
Last night, Vaune’s friend/acquaintance Evan, who is also living in Paris, came to have coffee with her. She brought me along as a buffer, in case they had nothing to talk about. I had my second cup of coffee in seven years, and regretted it, remembering why I haven’t had a cup since I was thirteen. It makes me sick to my stomach. But Lavazza is so delicious! We had a good time with Evan. After loitering in the brasserie for way too long, we went back to the FEU and had a bottle of wine with Evan and Ashley in the basement lounge of the FEU. It was nice and relaxing, although I wanted to go to bed earlier last night. We invited Evan to dinner on Friday (I am making a recipe from the cookbook my Mom sent me) and Ashley wanted to come, too, so we will have lovely dinner guests on Friday, which is nice because our food co-op seems to be falling apart a bit. On Saturday night, there were only four of us there, and last night no one even signed up to cook. Lame.
Well this blog post has gotten really long (I’m on my 4th page in Word and that doesn’t include pictures or video) so I am going to end it. I’ll update again the next time something interesting happens!
Many crazy things were packed into this one tiny weekend. Let me begin at the beginning.
Friday evening, Erin and I went to pick up Samara at Gare du Nord. We found her, and found our way back to the Métro, and all was well, until a random guy came up to as and started speaking English to us. This is not unusual when you are speaking English with your friends in Paris (Parisians have no sense of what is inappropriate in interactions with foreigners - they think anything goes), but it is still creepy and unwanted. And this guy soon revealed himself as being creepier than most. He started by saying, “What’s going on?” but we just ignored him. He took our pictures, and then started telling us, “Va te faire foutre,” which literally means, “Go f*** yourself,” over and over again. He was clearly unstable, but that doesn’t excuse random swearing at strangers. We got on the train and he followed us on, still shouting profanity in French and English, and then adding “f***” to the end of any word he knew in English, the most prominent one being “monkey.” He scared us. When he got off, we waited till the last minute to get off, too (because he got off at our stop) and then waited till two or three trains had come and gone and it was safe to assume that he was on some other train or out of the train station. Whew.
We headed back to Erin’s apartment, and then went out to get kebab. Mmm.
In France, "kebab" places do not serve shish kebab, as you might expect. Shish kebab is brochettes. "Kebab" is a bunch of shredded lamb stuffed into a giant bread thingy with lettuce, tomato, and sauce if you're lucky. And it is delicious.
On the métro. Samara's smoothie is bad. My kinder bueno is delicious.
Bein goofs
After kebab, we went to my room to use the internet, and watched a hilarious music video by “Petros.” Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is none other than my sixth-grade boyfriend, Peter Shields, playing pop star. Please listen to the lyrics. "I know you want my body, you know I think you're hot." Ah, young romance. Also, note tha Catholic guilt, and the lip curl that he has been practicing since elementary school.
I write with a mocking tone, and yet I must admit that this song has been stuck in my head for days and that I finally broke down and bought it from the iTunes music store. So he must be doing something right.
After that we decided to wander around the Marais. The first thing that happened was that we were walking around, and Erin was saying how people don’t really dress weird in France. Samara replied, “Except that guy,” pointing to a man dressed as a rabbit. Yeah, except that guy. We tried to take some clandestine pictures of him, and then decided to just walk up to him. He was trying to sell us some carrots for two euros. I get the feeling it was either some sort of promotion or social experiment. He made some vague allusions to carrot/phallus metaphors, but his main selling point was, “You are going to spend the money on drinks anyway, you might as well spend it on something that has vitamins in it.” He had a good point, although after taking several pictures of him and Erin, we bid him adieu.
"Why are you wearing that silly rabbit suit?"
"Why are you wearing that silly man suit?"
Hmm?
Bisous!
We were looking for a club of some sort, but didn’t really know where to look, and we ended up at a hookah bar. I am not generally into smoking of any sort, but hookah (Or “chicha,” in French) bothers me the least, and Erin and Samara thought it would be fun, so I let down my guard a little bit and joined in. I really enjoyed it (we chose apple flavored chicha), although looking back I have a feeling that it was actually the delicious mango juice that I had along with it that was so enjoyable. But it is a kind of nice social thing to do. Afterwards, Samara and Erin headed to Erin’s and I went home.
Trying out the hookah
Weirded out by the hookah
To me she looks like an odd kind of saxophonist
smokinnn (still weirded out)
Onward and upward
Erin pouring tea from high above, in true French fashion.
Chicha video! Soundtrack courtesy of Peter Shields.
Saturday morning I did laundry, and Erin and Samara came by around two. We lost track of time and so did not realize that it was three when we left, and 4:15 by the time Samara and I went into a restaurant at Denfert-Rochereau and she enjoyed her chocolate crêpes and mint sorbet and I enjoyed my café liégois ice cream (complete with whole, crunchy, coffee beans). This loss of time meant that we arrived at the Catacombs too late to go down, which was very sad. Samara went to look at a tiny Indian store, and I went home, leaving Erin and Samara to do their thang. Their thang included belly-dancing at Sacré Coeur and taking pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower.
These activities somehow took them until midnight, at which point they came to my room. Erin was endlessly amused by my Swedish textbook and asked me to read from it. I am sure my pronunciation is atrocious.
At 12:30 we got on the last RER. Erin went home, and Samara and I continued on to the Marais, where we were going to check out 3w Kafé, a new lesbian bar (all the cool dance clubs got closed down, so we had to settle for a bar with a tiny dance floor downstairs). When we got to the Saint-Paul Métro stop, we realized that Samara needed a new booklet of RATP tickets, so we went to the little kiosk. Which, of course, only takes change. And at 1 AM, the ticket counter was closed. So we dug through our wallets and somehow came up w/ 11€10 in change. What we did not know was that the machine will not accept more than 20 coins. After one failed attempt, we dumped all the change in my hand and picked through it for large coins, putting them in first. Eventually, we ended up using exactly 20 coins and got Samara her tickets, which she was going to need later, for our exciting (and frustrating) foray into the world of the Noctilien (Paris’ new night bus system).
We found our way to the bar with no trouble, and headed inside. It was completely packed, so we went downstairs to the “dance floor,” which was more like a glorified hallway. It was cozy, though, not cramped. It was really refreshing just to be there and to see all different kinds of girls, able to be themselves, without some of the pressures of patriarchy and heterosexism, just for the night, just inside those walls. For the most part, Samara and I just stood and people-watched, although eventually we found a place to put our stuff down and sort of attempted to dance. Samara was using belly-dancing moves, and I can’t dance for my life, so we looked semi-ridiculous, but we had a good time. At one point, this girl who had been staring at us came up and started talking to us. She was mostly there because she thought Samara looked interesting, but, oddly, she was mostly talking to me. About Samara. Samara had forgotten a lot of French, so I did a lot of translating this weekend, but this was definitely the weirdest. The girl kept saying how pretty Samara was, and how she couldn’t believe a girl that pretty could be single. She also kept telling me that it was impossible to be in a long-distance relationship. Hmmm. She asked Samara about her bangles (the weekend was continually punctuated by various people asking Samara about Goth apparel/belly-dance apparel), and just babbled to me oddly for a long time. Finally she went away, and we went back to being bad at dancing. She came up at the end of the night, and I think she wanted us to come w/ her and her friends to go dance somewhere else, but we politely declined.
We navigated the Noctilien home, getting off-track at one point (owing to the fact that the info online, on the maps, and at the actual stations were all different) but being too comfortable in our warm bus that was going in the wrong direction to get off. Finally we got on a bus that took us to Porte d’Orléans, which was the closest we could get to the Cité Universitaire. We walked down boulevard Jourdan, and ran into some guys asking us if we knew where the Cité Universitaire party was. I didn’t want to burst there bubble by telling them that at 4 AM, any party hosted by one of these buildings was most likely over, so I just told him I didn’t know. He asked if we lived in the Cité, and I told him I did and Samara was visiting. He got excited when I said I lived in the FEU, cause he lived there last year. He, too, asked Samara about her Goth garb, and if there was some underlying revendication. We were exhausted - so not in the mood to go into some philosophical discussion - so we begged off, but the guy (Damien) and I exchanged numbers - he is going to drop me a line next time he passes by the FEU. Always nice to make new friends.
At 4:30 AM, Samara and I collapsed into bed. That is a New Orleans bedtime, and I am way out of the habit. And I prefer it that way. So, no more 4:30 AM bedtimes anytime soon. We slept until TWO PM on Sunday. Vaune woke us up knocking on the door.
Samara wanted a croissant and a hot chocolate, so we went to the artisan boulangerie at Porte d’Orléans. On the tramway, a man stopped us and asked us if we spoke French. He leaned in and very quietly, very slowly (and very politely, to be fair) said the following:
“Je suis chrétien. Je sais qu’il y a des gens qui ne croient pas au Dieu. Si vous avez un peu de temps aujourd’hui, vous pouvez recevoir Dieu.”
Which means:
“I am a Christian. I know that there are people who do not believe in God. If you have a little time today, you can receive Him.”
I literally said, “Not today, thank you,” and we walked away. He told us to have a nice day, and said something like, “maybe next week.” I don’t think so. It was… not nice, but different, to have someone proselytizing politely. Someone actually exhibiting “Christian” behavior while trying to convert people to Christianity. Of course, it was still weird and inappropriate.
After buying way too many pastries, we came back to my room and collapsed until it was time to leave. We got to the station early and went across the street to get pizza first. After pizza, we went to the Eurostar terminal and hugged and bisous’d goodbye, and Samara was on her way.
Last night, Vaune’s friend/acquaintance Evan, who is also living in Paris, came to have coffee with her. She brought me along as a buffer, in case they had nothing to talk about. I had my second cup of coffee in seven years, and regretted it, remembering why I haven’t had a cup since I was thirteen. It makes me sick to my stomach. But Lavazza is so delicious! We had a good time with Evan. After loitering in the brasserie for way too long, we went back to the FEU and had a bottle of wine with Evan and Ashley in the basement lounge of the FEU. It was nice and relaxing, although I wanted to go to bed earlier last night. We invited Evan to dinner on Friday (I am making a recipe from the cookbook my Mom sent me) and Ashley wanted to come, too, so we will have lovely dinner guests on Friday, which is nice because our food co-op seems to be falling apart a bit. On Saturday night, there were only four of us there, and last night no one even signed up to cook. Lame.
Well this blog post has gotten really long (I’m on my 4th page in Word and that doesn’t include pictures or video) so I am going to end it. I’ll update again the next time something interesting happens!
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Arrête! C'est ici l'empire de la mort!
Time to tell of Carolyn’s visit, so that then I can tell of Samara’s visit, which is not yet over.
Carolyn came to visit last week. She arrived on a Tuesday. After Swedish class, I ran to the train station to get her and we went back to my room where she dropped off her stuff. Then I took her to my Grammar and History of Language class, where we mostly played Hangman and confused Alan with our various phrase choices. Later we went grocery shopping, to prepare for Carolyn’s cooking on Thursday.
Wednesday Carolyn came to my Grammar class and my Translation class, although we left Translation early cause I was not feeling well and wanted to make sure I got to a pharmacy before closing time. So we went to the Marais, to the American store on St-Paul St., and got Kraft mac n cheese, and then went to the pharmacy. It was also Halloween, and Vaune and I dressed as each other for dinner.
Yes, we're wearing almost exactly the same thing anyway
Jessie made everyone little goodie-bags, which included vampire teeth.
Thursday was a lazy day; we watched a lot of movies. It was also Toussaint (All Saint’s Day), which is a national holiday in France and kind of a big deal. In honor of this day, we went to the Montparnasse Cemetery, where several famous people are buried, although we only saw one.
We also found this priceless grave
Please note the dates
Eventually we started to cook. Carolyn made pasta with basil/garlic cream sauce and pine nuts. We invited Alan over for dinner, but he was napping and forgot to get up, so by the time he got there, we’d already finished. But we saved him some of Carolyn’s delicious pasta and he had some and he brought wine and baguette, so we had wine and baguette and we all watched Eddie Izzard until Alan had to go home.
Friday, Carolyn and I had been planning on going to Disneyland, but then realized we are poor and can’t afford it. Instead, we went to the Catacombs. Not quite the same thing. Where Disneyland is a giant playground full of fantastical characters and thrilling rides, the Catacombs are miles and miles of tunnels and caves under Paris lined with human bones. Hmm. For the full story, check out Wikipedia.
"Stop! It is here, the Empire of Death!"
Bone structure!
Going down to the Catacombs is literally like walking down into a horror film.
Saturday was more lazing about and then Carolyn left. It was wonderful having her here, although now I miss her a lot more. It’s been a rough couple of weeks for me, so having her here could not have come at a better time. I hope to visit her soon.
This post is pretty vanilla and vague. I will try to write about Samara’s visit more quickly, while all of the events are still fresh in my mind!
Carolyn came to visit last week. She arrived on a Tuesday. After Swedish class, I ran to the train station to get her and we went back to my room where she dropped off her stuff. Then I took her to my Grammar and History of Language class, where we mostly played Hangman and confused Alan with our various phrase choices. Later we went grocery shopping, to prepare for Carolyn’s cooking on Thursday.
Wednesday Carolyn came to my Grammar class and my Translation class, although we left Translation early cause I was not feeling well and wanted to make sure I got to a pharmacy before closing time. So we went to the Marais, to the American store on St-Paul St., and got Kraft mac n cheese, and then went to the pharmacy. It was also Halloween, and Vaune and I dressed as each other for dinner.
Yes, we're wearing almost exactly the same thing anyway
Jessie made everyone little goodie-bags, which included vampire teeth.
Thursday was a lazy day; we watched a lot of movies. It was also Toussaint (All Saint’s Day), which is a national holiday in France and kind of a big deal. In honor of this day, we went to the Montparnasse Cemetery, where several famous people are buried, although we only saw one.
We also found this priceless grave
Please note the dates
Eventually we started to cook. Carolyn made pasta with basil/garlic cream sauce and pine nuts. We invited Alan over for dinner, but he was napping and forgot to get up, so by the time he got there, we’d already finished. But we saved him some of Carolyn’s delicious pasta and he had some and he brought wine and baguette, so we had wine and baguette and we all watched Eddie Izzard until Alan had to go home.
Friday, Carolyn and I had been planning on going to Disneyland, but then realized we are poor and can’t afford it. Instead, we went to the Catacombs. Not quite the same thing. Where Disneyland is a giant playground full of fantastical characters and thrilling rides, the Catacombs are miles and miles of tunnels and caves under Paris lined with human bones. Hmm. For the full story, check out Wikipedia.
"Stop! It is here, the Empire of Death!"
Bone structure!
Going down to the Catacombs is literally like walking down into a horror film.
Saturday was more lazing about and then Carolyn left. It was wonderful having her here, although now I miss her a lot more. It’s been a rough couple of weeks for me, so having her here could not have come at a better time. I hope to visit her soon.
This post is pretty vanilla and vague. I will try to write about Samara’s visit more quickly, while all of the events are still fresh in my mind!
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Dear Ali,
I did not update my blog tonight because I am exhausted and I am going to bed early (for the weekend, anyway). I do, however, have all day tomorrow free until Samara arrives at 5, and I plan on spending my lazy morning writing in my blog about all sorts of interesting things, including:
-spending some quality time w/ Sartre
-spending some quality time w/ human remains arranged into practical structures
-strikes
-obnoxious/spoiled French students
-stage fright
-spending some quality time w/ Sartre
-spending some quality time w/ human remains arranged into practical structures
-strikes
-obnoxious/spoiled French students
-stage fright
Friday, November 2, 2007
Angry in Angers
So I haven’t updated since Angers. Let me give you a quick recap of my last night in Angers, and some photos.
Basically, what happened on Sunday night was that Chris and I went to the Falstaff for the Halloween party. I was still grumpy, but I did have fun carving pumpkins. Eventually Chris and I were hungry so we went next door to get some kebab and fries. When we got back, Kat met us at the door and said, “I have some bad news. My boyfriend’s parents might be coming in to town tonight instead of tomorrow, so I need the keys tonight. Can you stay at Scotty’s?” This is after Kat had first told us (in September) that we could stay with her, then told Scott that we could only stay w/ her for two nights, then told me that we were staying in her boyfriend’s old apartment and described it as if she were doing us a favor - not as if it were a furniture-less, utility-less icebox. So I was pretty pissed at her general flakiness, and kind of stomped off to go pack up my stuff, not knowing where I would be sleeping that night, or what I was going to tell Vaune, who wouldn’t be able to stay at Latin Lover’s house that night, because his host family was coming home. Halfway back to the apartment, Kat calls Chris and tells him, “they might not be able to make it,” and that we should come back. Okay. So we come back, and we are sitting around, eating candy, trying to have a good time, but for several hours I am just sitting there not knowing if I have a place to sleep. Finally, after agonizing about it for ages and Kat never actually saying anything to me, I asked her about it and she said, “Oh, I haven’t heard anything from them so I think it will be okay. And there is another guy who is going to stay with you: Mike from Notre Dame.” For one, she is basing my having a place to sleep on “I haven’t heard anything,” and then after that, she is telling me that a strange guy is also staying there? But whatever, I let it go.
Later, we watched Rocky Horror, which was fun, but then they started playing Descent dubbed over in French, so I just put in my headphones and watched House. I was coughing and sniffling and just wanted to go to bed but a) I had to wait for “Mike from Notre Dame” and b) the bar was warmer than the apartment.
Finally I was exhausted and informed Mike that we were leaving. We walked back to the apartment, where I put on two pairs of pajama pants, men’s jeans, a tank top, a tee shirt, a sweatshirt, and my winter coat. And my hat. I wrapped my towel in a t-shirt, and lay down on Kat’s “mattress” a.k.a. body pillow. And proceeded to freeze.
I slept maybe a total of twenty minutes all night. I know I slept some, because I dreamed, but I mostly remember lying awake shivering. At about 4 AM it started pouring rain. At 6 AM, Vaune called me - she was down at the front door, having walked a mile in the rain, and needed to be let in. We all lay freezing until about 9 AM when we got up. I didn’t even take a shower - I couldn’t stand the thought of that cold water one more time.
The rest of Monday was mundane - did laundry again (all my clothes smelled like smoke), bought a new pair of shoes (okay this is not mundane - they are red Converse All-Stars and they are beyond awesome), bought other winter items (new chunky sweater, long-sleeved t-shirt, scarf, gloves, umbrella) and lazed around on the internet. I had told Kat I would bring her the keys before we left, and at 7 PM she calls me, saying, “Are you bringing the key? It’s 7 and you haven’t been. I thought you were coming at 5. Is Vaune coming, too? She needs to pay her tab.” I never told her I was coming at 5, and the reason Vaune needed to pay her tab was that for some reason Kat hadn’t let her do it the night before - I don’t really understand why. I was pretty ticked off; after all she put me through, to be snarky about bringing back the key was too much. At this point I was basically angry at everyone, because they had all flaked on me to some extent, so we went to the bar, dropped off the key, said goodbye to some people, and zoomed outta there. We had like an hour before our train, but I just didn’t want to be around any of those people anymore.
And that is that. Here are some pictures:
A witch in the Falstaff
Chris and I being weird
We were all entranced by Justin's choice of winter garb
Chris missed, and thereby documented my cranberry juice ("Ah ya on yah periahd?") and my popped knee. Very high-fashion. Got to admit - they are nice jeans. Also, you can see my Payless "Air Walks," purchased for me by Margaret Beyer in April, and worn nearly every day since. They have finally been put to rest, as they are full of holes, and I now have a pair of Converse All-Stars.
Chris aims correctly. I am short.
Chris is doing that thing where you kiss someone's ear and they go deaf for a second... Oh, never mind.
Halloween party!
Pumpkin innards
Kat, in her Falstaff Halloween shirt
Scooping pumpkin innards
Me imitating my jack-o-lantern
Making a normal face
My demented pumpkin
Some more creative pumpkins
My "mattress"
My awesome Converse!
Basically, what happened on Sunday night was that Chris and I went to the Falstaff for the Halloween party. I was still grumpy, but I did have fun carving pumpkins. Eventually Chris and I were hungry so we went next door to get some kebab and fries. When we got back, Kat met us at the door and said, “I have some bad news. My boyfriend’s parents might be coming in to town tonight instead of tomorrow, so I need the keys tonight. Can you stay at Scotty’s?” This is after Kat had first told us (in September) that we could stay with her, then told Scott that we could only stay w/ her for two nights, then told me that we were staying in her boyfriend’s old apartment and described it as if she were doing us a favor - not as if it were a furniture-less, utility-less icebox. So I was pretty pissed at her general flakiness, and kind of stomped off to go pack up my stuff, not knowing where I would be sleeping that night, or what I was going to tell Vaune, who wouldn’t be able to stay at Latin Lover’s house that night, because his host family was coming home. Halfway back to the apartment, Kat calls Chris and tells him, “they might not be able to make it,” and that we should come back. Okay. So we come back, and we are sitting around, eating candy, trying to have a good time, but for several hours I am just sitting there not knowing if I have a place to sleep. Finally, after agonizing about it for ages and Kat never actually saying anything to me, I asked her about it and she said, “Oh, I haven’t heard anything from them so I think it will be okay. And there is another guy who is going to stay with you: Mike from Notre Dame.” For one, she is basing my having a place to sleep on “I haven’t heard anything,” and then after that, she is telling me that a strange guy is also staying there? But whatever, I let it go.
Later, we watched Rocky Horror, which was fun, but then they started playing Descent dubbed over in French, so I just put in my headphones and watched House. I was coughing and sniffling and just wanted to go to bed but a) I had to wait for “Mike from Notre Dame” and b) the bar was warmer than the apartment.
Finally I was exhausted and informed Mike that we were leaving. We walked back to the apartment, where I put on two pairs of pajama pants, men’s jeans, a tank top, a tee shirt, a sweatshirt, and my winter coat. And my hat. I wrapped my towel in a t-shirt, and lay down on Kat’s “mattress” a.k.a. body pillow. And proceeded to freeze.
I slept maybe a total of twenty minutes all night. I know I slept some, because I dreamed, but I mostly remember lying awake shivering. At about 4 AM it started pouring rain. At 6 AM, Vaune called me - she was down at the front door, having walked a mile in the rain, and needed to be let in. We all lay freezing until about 9 AM when we got up. I didn’t even take a shower - I couldn’t stand the thought of that cold water one more time.
The rest of Monday was mundane - did laundry again (all my clothes smelled like smoke), bought a new pair of shoes (okay this is not mundane - they are red Converse All-Stars and they are beyond awesome), bought other winter items (new chunky sweater, long-sleeved t-shirt, scarf, gloves, umbrella) and lazed around on the internet. I had told Kat I would bring her the keys before we left, and at 7 PM she calls me, saying, “Are you bringing the key? It’s 7 and you haven’t been. I thought you were coming at 5. Is Vaune coming, too? She needs to pay her tab.” I never told her I was coming at 5, and the reason Vaune needed to pay her tab was that for some reason Kat hadn’t let her do it the night before - I don’t really understand why. I was pretty ticked off; after all she put me through, to be snarky about bringing back the key was too much. At this point I was basically angry at everyone, because they had all flaked on me to some extent, so we went to the bar, dropped off the key, said goodbye to some people, and zoomed outta there. We had like an hour before our train, but I just didn’t want to be around any of those people anymore.
And that is that. Here are some pictures:
A witch in the Falstaff
Chris and I being weird
We were all entranced by Justin's choice of winter garb
Chris missed, and thereby documented my cranberry juice ("Ah ya on yah periahd?") and my popped knee. Very high-fashion. Got to admit - they are nice jeans. Also, you can see my Payless "Air Walks," purchased for me by Margaret Beyer in April, and worn nearly every day since. They have finally been put to rest, as they are full of holes, and I now have a pair of Converse All-Stars.
Chris aims correctly. I am short.
Chris is doing that thing where you kiss someone's ear and they go deaf for a second... Oh, never mind.
Halloween party!
Pumpkin innards
Kat, in her Falstaff Halloween shirt
Scooping pumpkin innards
Me imitating my jack-o-lantern
Making a normal face
My demented pumpkin
Some more creative pumpkins
My "mattress"
My awesome Converse!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
