Fête Nationale
Military Parade!
Picnic!
Rock Concert!
Fireworks!
Showing posts with label Le grenouille mange le pamplemousse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Le grenouille mange le pamplemousse. Show all posts
14 July 2009
20 June 2009
03 May 2009
04 March 2009
23 January 2009
Negativity
During my trip home, two different friends approached me to say they were concerned about me. They were worried what was going on with me because my attitude had become quite negative. —Never an easy thing to hear, but they were entirely right of course. Not an easy thing to talk to a friend about either, so I really have to thank them immensely for caring enough about me to do it.
To be perfectly honest, I do find Paris to be a negative place. I hadn't realised, however, how much the bad vibes had affected me since arriving here. While I'm generally a very happy, easy-going, independent person, it seems the trying times I've had here have secretly been taking their toll.
Enough with the boo-hoo woe-is-me excuses though! — It's time for some solutions. I present you with "Smiling in the Face of Adversity 101".
Step One: Think of one new positive thing every day.
Step Two: Focus on what I have rather than what I'm missing.
Step Three: Set realistic and achievable goals.
Step Four: Leave Paris more often.
15 January 2009
I'm a legal alien
Hurray! I got my student visa renewed today. Sure, it took four appointments, hours of waiting, thousands of documents and endless heartbreak, but I am no longer an illegal alien. My situation is no longer irrégulière, as they say. Yeay me!
22 September 2008
Welcome Back
I step off the night train from Berlin into a rare morning sun of the Gare du Nord. Make my way through the station's wrought iron pillars like spindly tree trunks. Descend into the cavernous left luggage office to drop off my suitcase before heading off to teach. Go through the whole ordeal of x-raying my bag, emptying my pockets, taking off me belt, only to get inside and find that the change machine for the lockers is out of service. Back out through security and out to buy something I don't need then back again through all over again.
Go to the métro entrance to buy a ticket and find huge lines 20 people deep, to buy tickets at the counter. No automatic ticket machines. Go to the next entrance, find automatic ticket machines, half are out of service, an unstaffed ticket counter and more huge lines 20 people deep.
Finally get on the platform and hear the chimes of a service announcement: "Due to a strike by railway workers, service is currently disrupted and no trains are circulating outside of peak hours..."
Welcome back to France.
Go to the métro entrance to buy a ticket and find huge lines 20 people deep, to buy tickets at the counter. No automatic ticket machines. Go to the next entrance, find automatic ticket machines, half are out of service, an unstaffed ticket counter and more huge lines 20 people deep.
Finally get on the platform and hear the chimes of a service announcement: "Due to a strike by railway workers, service is currently disrupted and no trains are circulating outside of peak hours..."
Welcome back to France.
03 September 2008
Operation T.D.
William Burrows writes about the 'Annexia', but it sounds more like France to me:
"I deplore brutality," he said. "It's not efficient. On the other hand, prolonged mistreatment, short of physical violence, gives rise, when skilfully applied, to anxiety and a felling of special guilt. A few rules or rather guiding principles are to be borne in mind. The subject must not realize that the mistreatment is a deliberate attack of an anti-human enemy on his personal identity. He must be made to feel that he deserves any treatment he receives because there is something (never specified) horribly wrong with him. The naked need of the control addicts must de decently covered by an arbitrary and intricate bureaucracy so the subject cannot contact his enemy direct."
Every citizen of Annexia was required to apply for and carry on his person at all times a whole portfolio of documents. Citizens were subject to be stopped in the street at any time; and the Examiner, who might be in plain clothes, in various uniforms, often in a bathing suit or pyjamas, sometimes stark naked except for a badge pinned to his left nipple, after checking each paper, would stamp it. On subsequent inspection the citizen was required to show the properly entered stamps of the last inspection. The Examiner, when he stopped a large group, would only examine and stamp the cards of a few. The others were then subject to arrest because their cards were not properly stamped. Arrest meant "provisional detention"; that is, the prisoner would be released if and when his Affidavit of Explanation, properly signed and stamped, was approved by the Assistant Arbiter of Explanations. Since this official hardly ever came to his office, and the Affidavit of Explanation had to be presented in person, the explainers spent weeks and months waiting around in unheated offices with no chairs and no toilet facilities.
Documents issued in vanishing ink faded into old pawn tickets. New documents were constantly required. The citizen rushed from one bureau to another in a frenzied attempt to meet impossible deadlines.
"I deplore brutality," he said. "It's not efficient. On the other hand, prolonged mistreatment, short of physical violence, gives rise, when skilfully applied, to anxiety and a felling of special guilt. A few rules or rather guiding principles are to be borne in mind. The subject must not realize that the mistreatment is a deliberate attack of an anti-human enemy on his personal identity. He must be made to feel that he deserves any treatment he receives because there is something (never specified) horribly wrong with him. The naked need of the control addicts must de decently covered by an arbitrary and intricate bureaucracy so the subject cannot contact his enemy direct."
Every citizen of Annexia was required to apply for and carry on his person at all times a whole portfolio of documents. Citizens were subject to be stopped in the street at any time; and the Examiner, who might be in plain clothes, in various uniforms, often in a bathing suit or pyjamas, sometimes stark naked except for a badge pinned to his left nipple, after checking each paper, would stamp it. On subsequent inspection the citizen was required to show the properly entered stamps of the last inspection. The Examiner, when he stopped a large group, would only examine and stamp the cards of a few. The others were then subject to arrest because their cards were not properly stamped. Arrest meant "provisional detention"; that is, the prisoner would be released if and when his Affidavit of Explanation, properly signed and stamped, was approved by the Assistant Arbiter of Explanations. Since this official hardly ever came to his office, and the Affidavit of Explanation had to be presented in person, the explainers spent weeks and months waiting around in unheated offices with no chairs and no toilet facilities.
Documents issued in vanishing ink faded into old pawn tickets. New documents were constantly required. The citizen rushed from one bureau to another in a frenzied attempt to meet impossible deadlines.
21 August 2008
The Worst Week of My Life
On Friday night, going home from a friend's house, I got in a bicycle accident. A car turned right and didn't see me in the bike lane. I braked to avoid crashing into the car, and wiped out trying to stop.
Since I was bleeding all over my favourite polo shirt, I had to got to the hospital to get stitches (two under my eyebrow). On the way to the hospital I lost my house keys. My roommate is in New York until the end of September, so the next morning I had to wander around for two hours to find a locksmith that was open on Saturday during August vacations. When I did eventually find one, he said he couldn't change the lock because it was lunch time! I almost jumped over the counter and strangled him!
After he had his lunch, he came over, charged me €800, and broke the lock. But then said that he didn't have the right lock to replace mine and would have to come back on Monday morning to finish it! AAAAAGHHH!!! WHY would you break a lock if you knew you couldn't replace it!?! I had to carry a screwdriver around with me all weekend so I could jimmy the lock open with it.
Then Monday, my bank card was declined when I tried to use it. Of course there is no Customer Service number to phone in France, so I had to go in to the branch and talk to someone who said that it would be fixed tomorrow — which, of course it wasn't. So I went back to the branch and was told I had to make an appointment with the branch manager to talk about my card. Now four days later –during which time I am unable to get money from my card– I meet with the bank manager and she tells me my account has been closed "on suspicion of money laundering". I had taken cash from my student line of credit at a bank machine to deposit in my French account to pay for tuition fees. Apparently, this is completely not allowed in France, to, you know, deposit money into your account, then try to use it later! Account closed — No ifs, ands or buts.
If it wasn't so bloody impossible to open a bank account in this country I would have simply said "Fuck you" and opened and account elsewhere. But instead I spent half an hour screaming and being a general asshole (because that's how to get things done in France) before the bank manager agreed to reopen my account with a €100 weekly limit. "But it's my money. Shouldn't I be able to access it whenever I want?" I said. "Non" she answered, "not in these circumstances."
I also got in a big argument on Wednesday with my loser ex-rommate who doesn't want to give me my €1100 deposit back because he wants me to pay to have the room repainted.
I think I've said "I hate France" more times in these past seven days than all the past twelve months put together. And it makes me wonder, did I actually ever, even once, say "I hate Japan" when I was living there?
Since I was bleeding all over my favourite polo shirt, I had to got to the hospital to get stitches (two under my eyebrow). On the way to the hospital I lost my house keys. My roommate is in New York until the end of September, so the next morning I had to wander around for two hours to find a locksmith that was open on Saturday during August vacations. When I did eventually find one, he said he couldn't change the lock because it was lunch time! I almost jumped over the counter and strangled him!
After he had his lunch, he came over, charged me €800, and broke the lock. But then said that he didn't have the right lock to replace mine and would have to come back on Monday morning to finish it! AAAAAGHHH!!! WHY would you break a lock if you knew you couldn't replace it!?! I had to carry a screwdriver around with me all weekend so I could jimmy the lock open with it.
Then Monday, my bank card was declined when I tried to use it. Of course there is no Customer Service number to phone in France, so I had to go in to the branch and talk to someone who said that it would be fixed tomorrow — which, of course it wasn't. So I went back to the branch and was told I had to make an appointment with the branch manager to talk about my card. Now four days later –during which time I am unable to get money from my card– I meet with the bank manager and she tells me my account has been closed "on suspicion of money laundering". I had taken cash from my student line of credit at a bank machine to deposit in my French account to pay for tuition fees. Apparently, this is completely not allowed in France, to, you know, deposit money into your account, then try to use it later! Account closed — No ifs, ands or buts.
If it wasn't so bloody impossible to open a bank account in this country I would have simply said "Fuck you" and opened and account elsewhere. But instead I spent half an hour screaming and being a general asshole (because that's how to get things done in France) before the bank manager agreed to reopen my account with a €100 weekly limit. "But it's my money. Shouldn't I be able to access it whenever I want?" I said. "Non" she answered, "not in these circumstances."
I also got in a big argument on Wednesday with my loser ex-rommate who doesn't want to give me my €1100 deposit back because he wants me to pay to have the room repainted.
I think I've said "I hate France" more times in these past seven days than all the past twelve months put together. And it makes me wonder, did I actually ever, even once, say "I hate Japan" when I was living there?
Two adventures abroad that could not be more different.
12 August 2008
Castles, Cathedrals and Cheeses, oh my!
Only four or so months behind schedule, but here is the link to my photo album from my Mum's lovely visit to France in May.
We visited Normandy, Île-de-France (which isn't an island at all), and the imaginatively named "Centre" région. A great chance to get out of Paris and see a different côté of the country.
Thanks Mum!
26 July 2008
He finally got a piece of the pie
That's right, I'm movin' on up. Goodbye crazy religious gay roommate and hello "Tale of Two Cities" revolutionary fervour of Faubourg St-Antoine!
My current apartment is pretty nice, all mouldings and marble fireplace and all. I have a nice view of all the protests in Paris too; they always march down Boulevard Voltaire, right underneath my window. They only hitch is my total wacko-jacko roomie. Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy. He's just totally bonkers. And now he's asked me to move out because his internet boyfriend from Germany is moving to Paris. (I'm maintaining a strict "Don't ask, Don't tell" policy for that. Double yikes!).
No hard feelings, but given the awful time I had the first time around, I was dreading the apartment hunt experience. I did see some particullarly horrible places ("Oh, I see, you would like me to pay €500 to share your 7th-floor walk-up studio which is aproximately the size of a small thimble?" "Sorry, I was under the impression I was here to see an apartment, not a storage closet for Toblerones", of one apartment tucked under the building roof made up of nothing but slanty walls).
Then I went to Faubourg St-Antoine and new instantly I wanted to live there. I hoped and begged and prayed (and considered bribery too) that I would get the apartment. Thankfully, our Lord and Saviour, Betty White, provides for those in need. When my future new roommate called, I think I may have squealed, or swooned, or a little bit of both.
The new place is big, across the street (literally) from the métro and Vélib' stations, and the site of endless barricades being thrown up at various tumultuous points during French history. Very Les Misérables chic. I love it.
12 July 2008
Bye-bye!
I got on the train leaving Charles de Gaulle airport and I cried. I felt sad knowing that, with MM now on a plane back to Canada, I was, once again, very far from the people who cared about me.
I consider myself extremely lucky to have met Michael for three reasons. First, our meeting was very much by chance. If it hadn’t been for Couchsurfing.com and our friends who told us about it, our lives would have never crossed. Second reason is that MM arrived in my life at the time when I most needed a friend. The holidays were over, Polish gone; I felt isolated and alone. The grey tyranny of Parisian winter was pulling me down and school started taking a heavy toll. MM’s appearance on the scene changed everything for the better. And for this I am immeasurably grateful. Third reason, and more than anything else, he is an extraordinary individual. Kind, genuine, hilarious. Not a moment spent together that wasn’t brilliant.
Our first meeting was at a dingy rock bar in Bastille. By our third meeting shortly thereafter, it felt to me that we had been best friends for half a lifetime. We talked endlessly about our growing and mutual hatred of French universities, made tacos in maid’s rooms and generally annoyed my roommate. We helped each other through the many horrible curveballs the city threw at us, drank wine by the Seine and never stopped laughing at the “France” episode of Ab Fab, no matter how many times we watched it.
MM, I owe a lot to you, and, as the Golden Girls once put it, “Thank you for being a friend.” See you at Christmas!
I consider myself extremely lucky to have met Michael for three reasons. First, our meeting was very much by chance. If it hadn’t been for Couchsurfing.com and our friends who told us about it, our lives would have never crossed. Second reason is that MM arrived in my life at the time when I most needed a friend. The holidays were over, Polish gone; I felt isolated and alone. The grey tyranny of Parisian winter was pulling me down and school started taking a heavy toll. MM’s appearance on the scene changed everything for the better. And for this I am immeasurably grateful. Third reason, and more than anything else, he is an extraordinary individual. Kind, genuine, hilarious. Not a moment spent together that wasn’t brilliant.
Our first meeting was at a dingy rock bar in Bastille. By our third meeting shortly thereafter, it felt to me that we had been best friends for half a lifetime. We talked endlessly about our growing and mutual hatred of French universities, made tacos in maid’s rooms and generally annoyed my roommate. We helped each other through the many horrible curveballs the city threw at us, drank wine by the Seine and never stopped laughing at the “France” episode of Ab Fab, no matter how many times we watched it.
MM, I owe a lot to you, and, as the Golden Girls once put it, “Thank you for being a friend.” See you at Christmas!
28 June 2008
Paris Pride Photo Essay
Let's get this party started
There was an old man inside this bus stop who looked like he couldn't figure out why the bus was so behind schedule
D&G – "Drunk and Gorgeous"
Rockin' the rosé on Boulevard St-Michel
Crazy girl who came up to us and said "You're from Cananda?! I love you!! Whaaaa!" – Best picture ever!
P with hottie French police officers
A looOOong story!
The end!
24 June 2008
"'Ay will heet you with my baguette!"
I was walking down the street to visit my friends Cindy and Michael and a young woman was riding her bicycle down the sidewalk. Slightly irritating, yes, but in the grand scheme of things, completely inconsequential. I didn't see exactly what happened next, but I turned around and this older couple was in a full-out shouting match with the girl on her bicycle. "Your filthy bicycle belongs on the street!!" — "Why don't you have the decency to look where you're going?!" — That kind of stuff. And next thing I knew it, the man was threatening to hit the girl with his baguette! If it hadn't been so completely hilarious, I would have scandalised.
She just rode away from their screams and no baguettes were injured in the course of the altercation.
She just rode away from their screams and no baguettes were injured in the course of the altercation.
20 June 2008
A Trip to the Supermarket
Aimlessly searching through the shelves: "Excuse me sir, where is the cocoa powder?"
"Pfft!" Looking me up and down, "It's in the coffee aisle!"
"Pfft!" Looking me up and down, "It's in the coffee aisle!"
Oh, well, excuse me. Not with the baking products then? Or next to the chocolates? Oh of course! With the coffee – How stupid of me! I mean, I know the marzipan is between the laundry detergent and chicken breasts. So how could I possibly not know that the cocoa powder is next to the coffee?
08 May 2008
Andouillette
After our last exam yesterday evening, the student union organised a party in the park behind the school. People brought wine and snacks and generally got drunk having fun in the sun. One person happened to bring a charming French dish known as "andouillette." I figured, why not try? I was never going buy some of this delightful, savoury surprise myself, so it was a golden opportunity to sample one of France's lesser known delicacies.
I think the Wikipedia entry adequately describes the bountiful pleasures of andouillette and my wonderful experience eating it. Read on.
I think the Wikipedia entry adequately describes the bountiful pleasures of andouillette and my wonderful experience eating it. Read on.
01 May 2008
En bas l'État, les flics et les patrons!
May 1st is International Socialist Labour Day - a holiday in super-socialist France - and the parade is passing right under my window! It's kind of like Pride, but with fewer drag queens and more communists, still going on three hours after it started.
It's a strange experience being in a place that really is so socialist. Unlike China, where they only pay lip service to socialism or communist ideals, France really does feel about two degrees away from the Soviet Union. The equality part of "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité" has made solidarity the motivating force behind French economic policy. This had translated into some very interesting "Intro to Economics" classes. So many of the ideas and principals are far removed from what we get exposed to in Liberal, laissez-faire North America.
Last week I did a language evaluation for a guy who works at a large French insurance company. His job was to organise the company trips. Twice a year the company subsidies its employees to go on vacation to places like Madagascar! While we're worried about how we're going to split up our two weeks of holidays, people in France are having their employers pay for them to sit on the beach (or take a tango class or go back to school).
Couldn't we have just a touch more solidarity back home? Would it really be too much to ask?
It's a strange experience being in a place that really is so socialist. Unlike China, where they only pay lip service to socialism or communist ideals, France really does feel about two degrees away from the Soviet Union. The equality part of "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité" has made solidarity the motivating force behind French economic policy. This had translated into some very interesting "Intro to Economics" classes. So many of the ideas and principals are far removed from what we get exposed to in Liberal, laissez-faire North America.
Last week I did a language evaluation for a guy who works at a large French insurance company. His job was to organise the company trips. Twice a year the company subsidies its employees to go on vacation to places like Madagascar! While we're worried about how we're going to split up our two weeks of holidays, people in France are having their employers pay for them to sit on the beach (or take a tango class or go back to school).
Couldn't we have just a touch more solidarity back home? Would it really be too much to ask?
07 April 2008
Move down! Clean cup!
In case you were wondering, this is what a typical day in France is like for me.
04 March 2008
French humour
Two cats have to swim across the English Channel. One is called "Undeuxtrois", and the other "Onetwothree". Which one wins?
Onetwothree, because the Undeuxtrois cat sank.
Onetwothree, because the Undeuxtrois cat sank.
27 February 2008
Homecoming Queen Dilemmas
I've been thinking and debating about when I should finagle my escape from the land of brie and Bordeaux to schedule some QT with all my amazing confreres and countrymen back in TO.
I have my return plane ticket which must be used before 12 September. The problem being that if I visit late summer-ish, I'm away when I should be making money. This is a big problem, because I have no money :-( On the converse side, the weather is hot and sunny, frisboi beckons, everyone is happy, pitchers of sangria abound.
Were I to visit at Christmas, I forfeit the return part of the ticket have and buy a new Paris-Toronto-Paris ticket. Not as much fun weather-wise, but more of course more family, turkey, stuffing, presents and tourtière. Speaking from past experience, holiday visits skew towards the hectic as there is always much scuttling across the frozen landscape to be done; Toronto, Belleville, Toronto, relatives, friends, New Years. It all gets to be a bit much.
Then of course there's always the problem of not knowing exactly when the semester starts or finishes... Decisions, decisions.... Unfortunately I don't think I can afford to do both.
Thoughts?
I have my return plane ticket which must be used before 12 September. The problem being that if I visit late summer-ish, I'm away when I should be making money. This is a big problem, because I have no money :-( On the converse side, the weather is hot and sunny, frisboi beckons, everyone is happy, pitchers of sangria abound.
Were I to visit at Christmas, I forfeit the return part of the ticket have and buy a new Paris-Toronto-Paris ticket. Not as much fun weather-wise, but more of course more family, turkey, stuffing, presents and tourtière. Speaking from past experience, holiday visits skew towards the hectic as there is always much scuttling across the frozen landscape to be done; Toronto, Belleville, Toronto, relatives, friends, New Years. It all gets to be a bit much.
Then of course there's always the problem of not knowing exactly when the semester starts or finishes... Decisions, decisions.... Unfortunately I don't think I can afford to do both.
Thoughts?
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