Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Pour un rire.
Be careful with pronounciation of french names. Many french names are similar, or sound similar, to rude words. Making this inaccuracy will cause your teacher to laugh. At you. Then explain the mistake to the rest of the class. Who will then ALL laugh at you.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
That church on the hill.
Saturday was sort of reserved for a rest day but when you're in one of the most amazing cities in the world thats never going to happen. After missing out on the 'chasse aux tresors' or scavengar hunt, we decided we would reward ourselves with a trip to Sacre Coeur. Sacre Coeur is a magnificent church situated in by far, one of the most touristy areas of Paris. After getting of the metro and walking over 300 steps just to get out of the metro station (no kidding, there were even rest areas for the old) we were immediately bombarded with the illegal immigrants who roam the streets.
While some are harmless and sit on the side of the street selling mini Eiffel towers or french flags (or an identical variation of the same thing, their creativity skills are seriously lacking. That and their marketing savvy, even I know that 10 people selling the same thing within 20 metres of each other is not the sure fire way to become the next Bill Gates). As we approached the fernicular (took a stab in the dark there, if its wrong I'll just pretend thats the french spelling), we were grabbed, literally by two African men. While trying to get away from them they grabbed on to our arms and started wrapping cotton around our wrists to braid a bracelet. We patiently waited as they completed braiding the bracelets until they got till then and started repeating over and over again 'akounamatata' (you get the drift right?) It was pretty freaky so we made to leave but they were yelling after us "donation, donation". So first of all they totally interrupt what we're doing, they force us to wait for them as they braid us a bracelet we don't even want and then they ask for a donation? Ummm, no.
We yanked the bracelets off our wrists and stormed off like the angry New Zealander's that we are (the storming didn't last too long, we were confronted by the daunting steps to the Sacre Coeur. I can't remember how many there are. Just, a lot).
By the time we got to the top it had started to rain (typical) and so we made a dart for the church along with the other 30,000 people there to check out the holy crib. It was pretty cool and although I have visited it before, its still special. This time I even read the noticeboards (but no photos, its not allowed, they actually have plain clothed officials just roaming about to tell people off, PDR I call them, the Power Drunk Relgious) and discovered that it took about 45 years to complete it! I have trouble with 2 hour long projects, let alone over two decades. Guess they didn't have internet in the late 1800's though. Maybe I would build a church to keep me sane. Wait out the technology-free era.
The rain soon cleared to make way for beautiful blue sky and we were able to grab some lunch and sit at the bottom of the steps, looking out over the Paris skyline (and the somewhat intrusive Montparnasse tower, a point of contention for the Parisians and a personal eyesore for me).
We even decided to explore and walked around a little bit but this was cut short with the realization that walking too far in any direction around this area leaves you in the ghetto. My suggestion is to walk 2km's to the left of the SC and pretend your in the slums of India, trust me, the comparison isn't difficult. We quickly left that area (for fear of getting mugged, raped or killed) and after getting completely drenched from the crazy, unexpectant rain we headed back for the metro (and the impending steps).
Nightime activity: my first Parisian party! More later. Bed.
While some are harmless and sit on the side of the street selling mini Eiffel towers or french flags (or an identical variation of the same thing, their creativity skills are seriously lacking. That and their marketing savvy, even I know that 10 people selling the same thing within 20 metres of each other is not the sure fire way to become the next Bill Gates). As we approached the fernicular (took a stab in the dark there, if its wrong I'll just pretend thats the french spelling), we were grabbed, literally by two African men. While trying to get away from them they grabbed on to our arms and started wrapping cotton around our wrists to braid a bracelet. We patiently waited as they completed braiding the bracelets until they got till then and started repeating over and over again 'akounamatata' (you get the drift right?) It was pretty freaky so we made to leave but they were yelling after us "donation, donation". So first of all they totally interrupt what we're doing, they force us to wait for them as they braid us a bracelet we don't even want and then they ask for a donation? Ummm, no.
We yanked the bracelets off our wrists and stormed off like the angry New Zealander's that we are (the storming didn't last too long, we were confronted by the daunting steps to the Sacre Coeur. I can't remember how many there are. Just, a lot).
By the time we got to the top it had started to rain (typical) and so we made a dart for the church along with the other 30,000 people there to check out the holy crib. It was pretty cool and although I have visited it before, its still special. This time I even read the noticeboards (but no photos, its not allowed, they actually have plain clothed officials just roaming about to tell people off, PDR I call them, the Power Drunk Relgious) and discovered that it took about 45 years to complete it! I have trouble with 2 hour long projects, let alone over two decades. Guess they didn't have internet in the late 1800's though. Maybe I would build a church to keep me sane. Wait out the technology-free era.
The rain soon cleared to make way for beautiful blue sky and we were able to grab some lunch and sit at the bottom of the steps, looking out over the Paris skyline (and the somewhat intrusive Montparnasse tower, a point of contention for the Parisians and a personal eyesore for me).
We even decided to explore and walked around a little bit but this was cut short with the realization that walking too far in any direction around this area leaves you in the ghetto. My suggestion is to walk 2km's to the left of the SC and pretend your in the slums of India, trust me, the comparison isn't difficult. We quickly left that area (for fear of getting mugged, raped or killed) and after getting completely drenched from the crazy, unexpectant rain we headed back for the metro (and the impending steps).
Nightime activity: my first Parisian party! More later. Bed.
Zzzzzzz.
Waiting for my washing to dry (in a dryer obviously, not just mindlessly staring at hanging clothes) is putting me to sleep. It's silent, warm and the idea of clean clothes is like a dream.
Tenez votre droite.
Always. Doing the opposite will lead you to a jab in the back.
Morale: forget all Kiwi custom.
Morale: forget all Kiwi custom.
Queues.
Home nice and early today ready to get started on my 'Does America have a culture?' oral presentation (read: 10 minutes of analysing the depth of Britney Spears and Lady Gaga). Today I was able to rise late (thank God, given how late I got home the night before) but had to rush to get out the door on time, for some reason this is a frequent occurence. Not sure what that's saying but I'm guessing my time management skills could do with a bit of french influence.
We arrived at the bank (LCL, for those that are actually interested) and had un rendez-vous with a lovely man named Svelko. Svetko. Stvelko. Stvksjk. Ok, I can't remember, but I do recall him having very nice eyes and therefore alot of what he said was completely lost on me. (I think my gazing distracted him also). But despite the language barriers we were able to form somewhat coherent interactions and we walked out of the door with a bank account (or so I assume).
The french banking system is very different to New Zealand. First of all, the whole appointment thing caught me off guard. Appointments in New Zealand? You either forget them, you're late, busy or just had to have a feed at the same time. In France, if you're 3 minutes late, you miss it. Luckily Sveltko/Svletko/Slevkto was understanding about our slight delay (we blamed the metro, truthfully we were eating).
The amount of paperwork we had to go through was also ridiculous. You can check 2 more trees of the rainforest list because we definitely killed on each. Initially I thought he had accidentally printed about four times too many copies but when he started sorting through all the papers and said something along the lines of "papier" and "beaucoup" I tried to close my gaping mouth. To make matters worse, we had to sign a large number of these papers. By the end of the signing, I think I had formed a new signature that was significantly less decipherable and potentially belonged to someone else. But after saying 'no' to a cheque book (you would think France would have moved on from these but apparently not) and learning that only lawyers, doctors and other honourable professions had credit cards and that no, we were not any of the above, we were handed a gigantic dossier of paper (which I'm sure will make for excellent firewood in the winter) and bidded 'bonne journee'. Tick, french bank account.
The rest of the day was spent in a line. This isn't entirely true but it sure felt like it. The line to pick up student cards is ridiculous. Everyday the line is at least one and a half hours long. Today, we sacrificed and decided to join it. After about 40 minutes a lady came down the line asking for peices of paper (again, french love their paper) and it was at this point that I discovered that my waiting was a complete waste of time because (unbeknown to me) I hadn't even completed my enrolment). I'm not even going to go down this track cos merely thinking about it makes me stressed, but the point is I spent 40 minutes waiting in the heat in a queue that got me nowhere and spent a large part of the rest of the day trying to do what I needed to (and failing, again). Outcome: unsuccessful.
On the plus side, I had a delicious sandwich poulet for lunch and we were able to go for another small walk around St Germain de Pres which is definitely one of the most beautiful arrondisements I've been to so far. But despite walking around this area numerous times, I am still unable to navigate my way back to school successfully due to the complete lack of a grid the french seem to have implemented.
Dog poo tally: +1.
We arrived at the bank (LCL, for those that are actually interested) and had un rendez-vous with a lovely man named Svelko. Svetko. Stvelko. Stvksjk. Ok, I can't remember, but I do recall him having very nice eyes and therefore alot of what he said was completely lost on me. (I think my gazing distracted him also). But despite the language barriers we were able to form somewhat coherent interactions and we walked out of the door with a bank account (or so I assume).
The french banking system is very different to New Zealand. First of all, the whole appointment thing caught me off guard. Appointments in New Zealand? You either forget them, you're late, busy or just had to have a feed at the same time. In France, if you're 3 minutes late, you miss it. Luckily Sveltko/Svletko/Slevkto was understanding about our slight delay (we blamed the metro, truthfully we were eating).
The amount of paperwork we had to go through was also ridiculous. You can check 2 more trees of the rainforest list because we definitely killed on each. Initially I thought he had accidentally printed about four times too many copies but when he started sorting through all the papers and said something along the lines of "papier" and "beaucoup" I tried to close my gaping mouth. To make matters worse, we had to sign a large number of these papers. By the end of the signing, I think I had formed a new signature that was significantly less decipherable and potentially belonged to someone else. But after saying 'no' to a cheque book (you would think France would have moved on from these but apparently not) and learning that only lawyers, doctors and other honourable professions had credit cards and that no, we were not any of the above, we were handed a gigantic dossier of paper (which I'm sure will make for excellent firewood in the winter) and bidded 'bonne journee'. Tick, french bank account.
The rest of the day was spent in a line. This isn't entirely true but it sure felt like it. The line to pick up student cards is ridiculous. Everyday the line is at least one and a half hours long. Today, we sacrificed and decided to join it. After about 40 minutes a lady came down the line asking for peices of paper (again, french love their paper) and it was at this point that I discovered that my waiting was a complete waste of time because (unbeknown to me) I hadn't even completed my enrolment). I'm not even going to go down this track cos merely thinking about it makes me stressed, but the point is I spent 40 minutes waiting in the heat in a queue that got me nowhere and spent a large part of the rest of the day trying to do what I needed to (and failing, again). Outcome: unsuccessful.
On the plus side, I had a delicious sandwich poulet for lunch and we were able to go for another small walk around St Germain de Pres which is definitely one of the most beautiful arrondisements I've been to so far. But despite walking around this area numerous times, I am still unable to navigate my way back to school successfully due to the complete lack of a grid the french seem to have implemented.
Dog poo tally: +1.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Picture perfect.
Just returned from a long day, finished off by drinking wine on the banks of the Seine with every nationality under the sun and the most bizarre mix of people.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Bonanza
Im woefully behind on the last two days exciting activities, but the explanation is there, its been two days of exciting activities. I have freshly returned from a night of playing Bonanza (my new favourite game) with some other New Zealander's (they do exist!) in an amazing appartment with a view of the Eiffel Tower. Just casually, every day activity to be playing cards with a group of friends on a balcony overlooking the beauty of Paris. After a particularly turbulent bout of metro'ing, my brain is seriously insuffucient to explain two wonderous days in the City of Lights. (Metro: retarded. We were super smart today and bought day passes after using about 7 tickets on Saturday. Yes, 7 tickets, 1 day. Sounds like a bad movie).
However all stations seemed to hate at least one of us and so someone always became stuck on the wrong side of the gates. Therefore one of the following always insued: either we were very crafty and were able to slip closely behind someone else using a ticket, thus getting through on their ticket, both naughty and adrenaline pumping, or simply climbed the gates which was much easier but much more obvious. By the time we arrived to the final Cite stop, it seemed the machines not only hated us, but everyone, and apart from my ticket, the machines would not let anyone through (clearly karma will come and bite me in the arse another day). This meant everyone could freely climb over the gates without too much fear of the soldiers who roam the metro stations with their fingers prised on their AK-47's (or a similar combination of letters an numbers, I've never been good with weapon lingo).
One poor man behind us, travelling with 3 other male friends his age (not gay, I confirm) was unlucky enough to be a little on the larger side. Now when I say he was travelling with 'friends', I use this term very loosely after their following actions. The gates are very narrow and therefore clambering over them to get to the other side is hard enough for the average joe-blog let alone a 200pound, 50 year old man. So of course, he got stuck. His 'friends' clearly took this as an opportunity to take a photo of him for future blackmail purposes.
We actually got talking to these men and they informed us that they had been judging (or officialising in some way, I can't be positive they used the french word for judge, I paraphrased) the judo tournament. Coincidentally we watched part of it on television today (another story) and so didn't look completely out of our depth or completely un-french when they told us the world champion was crowned. We tried to look excited and failed, so proceeded to tell them our national sport was rugby and that the All Blacks could take down these ankle tapping judo players any day.
French friends made today: -4.
This bright computer screen is completely putting me to sleep so missing days will be written soon. Busy busy day tomorrow so hopefully I can find time to write, too much excitement, too little time.
Bonne nuit!
However all stations seemed to hate at least one of us and so someone always became stuck on the wrong side of the gates. Therefore one of the following always insued: either we were very crafty and were able to slip closely behind someone else using a ticket, thus getting through on their ticket, both naughty and adrenaline pumping, or simply climbed the gates which was much easier but much more obvious. By the time we arrived to the final Cite stop, it seemed the machines not only hated us, but everyone, and apart from my ticket, the machines would not let anyone through (clearly karma will come and bite me in the arse another day). This meant everyone could freely climb over the gates without too much fear of the soldiers who roam the metro stations with their fingers prised on their AK-47's (or a similar combination of letters an numbers, I've never been good with weapon lingo).
One poor man behind us, travelling with 3 other male friends his age (not gay, I confirm) was unlucky enough to be a little on the larger side. Now when I say he was travelling with 'friends', I use this term very loosely after their following actions. The gates are very narrow and therefore clambering over them to get to the other side is hard enough for the average joe-blog let alone a 200pound, 50 year old man. So of course, he got stuck. His 'friends' clearly took this as an opportunity to take a photo of him for future blackmail purposes.
We actually got talking to these men and they informed us that they had been judging (or officialising in some way, I can't be positive they used the french word for judge, I paraphrased) the judo tournament. Coincidentally we watched part of it on television today (another story) and so didn't look completely out of our depth or completely un-french when they told us the world champion was crowned. We tried to look excited and failed, so proceeded to tell them our national sport was rugby and that the All Blacks could take down these ankle tapping judo players any day.
French friends made today: -4.
This bright computer screen is completely putting me to sleep so missing days will be written soon. Busy busy day tomorrow so hopefully I can find time to write, too much excitement, too little time.
Bonne nuit!
Friday, August 26, 2011
FYI
Avoid the New Zealand accent at all costs. Speak American. People will then understand you when you say 'bread'.
Home away from home.
Main building
Entrance to my crib!
The street leading to franco britannique.
The amazing view from my room (no photoshop).
Entrance to my crib!
The street leading to franco britannique.
The amazing view from my room (no photoshop).
Galaries Lafayette
What an interesting night. Fell asleep at about 11.30pm, my dreams starting almost before my head hit the pillow. However, half way through the night I awoke suddenly to massive thunder and lightning and pelting rain! I didn't even know Paris had thunderstorms and so initially wondered if all the pastries I've been eating were finally getting to my head. I somehow managed to continue to sleep despite the deafening roars filling the night air.
This morning we set off to the 9th arrondisement for a spot of shopping at Galaries Lafayette, the most extravagant store known to man kind. With about 4 metro transfers to get there, its definitely worth your while (if you can ignore the hoardes of other tourists getting snap happy under the magnificent ceiling). We decided we needed more energy to deal with the throngs of khaki laden, camera weilding Americans so headed accross the street and down a petite rue (where the food is slighty cheaper as its away from the tourists, albeit still expensive) and found a delicious creperie.
I chose a crepe avec confiture des framboises and it was divine. Its delivered like an ice cream, wrapped up in a cone of paper and its perfectly acceptable to eat with your hands (at least thats what I'm guessing judging by how few stares we got). We happily nibbled away while people watching and eavesdropping in an effort to decipher our fast talking Parisian neighbours (mission failed).
With a full stomach we headed accross the street from Galaries Lafayette to H and M. My dream came true. Its just as good as I remembered it (of course, who could ever doubt the wonder and enchantment of this place), and was filled with racks upon racks of french style vetements delight. The french assistants milled around judgingly, the tourists took photos of coat hangers and I stared in disbelief at where I was. Before we had time to try on every single item in the store we headed back to the metro to catch a train to class, the rain failing to put a damper on the fairytale setting (plus I was half thanking the weather God for finally relenting on his insane heat).
Walking through the giant arches that flag the school, its still hard to believe that the historically beautiful Haussman style buildings are really home to my new study space. There is something about the cobblestone pavement and the rich architecture of St Germain de Pres that will never cease to stop me in my tracks.
After signing up for the boat trip through Paris' wonderments and smiling my way through Methodologie class (due to the array of accents in my group, there's something about a Brazilian speaking French to a Slovakian speaking English that really gets me going), it was then time for the walking tour of St Germain de Pres and the area surrounding SP. We were shown various cafe's and restaurants and the coolest bars to hang out in during school time (not during school you understand, after classes...most of the time). We were led through winding streets with apartments home to cute wee flowerboxes and wrought iron spiral balconies, with old women hanging out washing, smiling young children (and smiling older men, but not in a good way).
Before we noticed it was well past 7pm and we were all sent back to the metro to head home. Taking my standard route home, I had a dinner of crackers, bread and apricot puree followed by a trip to Marche FranPrix were we brought fresh pastries from the boulangerie amidst the locals buying baguettes (its not a stereotype, there are almost more baguettes here than people, obviously that wouldn't be possible if you think logically but you get my drift).
A cooler night is welcome after the stifling heat from the previous days. Tomorrow is set aside for buying a cellphone and exploring an arrondisement while Sunday might be a trip to Versailles!
This morning we set off to the 9th arrondisement for a spot of shopping at Galaries Lafayette, the most extravagant store known to man kind. With about 4 metro transfers to get there, its definitely worth your while (if you can ignore the hoardes of other tourists getting snap happy under the magnificent ceiling). We decided we needed more energy to deal with the throngs of khaki laden, camera weilding Americans so headed accross the street and down a petite rue (where the food is slighty cheaper as its away from the tourists, albeit still expensive) and found a delicious creperie.
I chose a crepe avec confiture des framboises and it was divine. Its delivered like an ice cream, wrapped up in a cone of paper and its perfectly acceptable to eat with your hands (at least thats what I'm guessing judging by how few stares we got). We happily nibbled away while people watching and eavesdropping in an effort to decipher our fast talking Parisian neighbours (mission failed).
With a full stomach we headed accross the street from Galaries Lafayette to H and M. My dream came true. Its just as good as I remembered it (of course, who could ever doubt the wonder and enchantment of this place), and was filled with racks upon racks of french style vetements delight. The french assistants milled around judgingly, the tourists took photos of coat hangers and I stared in disbelief at where I was. Before we had time to try on every single item in the store we headed back to the metro to catch a train to class, the rain failing to put a damper on the fairytale setting (plus I was half thanking the weather God for finally relenting on his insane heat).
Walking through the giant arches that flag the school, its still hard to believe that the historically beautiful Haussman style buildings are really home to my new study space. There is something about the cobblestone pavement and the rich architecture of St Germain de Pres that will never cease to stop me in my tracks.
After signing up for the boat trip through Paris' wonderments and smiling my way through Methodologie class (due to the array of accents in my group, there's something about a Brazilian speaking French to a Slovakian speaking English that really gets me going), it was then time for the walking tour of St Germain de Pres and the area surrounding SP. We were shown various cafe's and restaurants and the coolest bars to hang out in during school time (not during school you understand, after classes...most of the time). We were led through winding streets with apartments home to cute wee flowerboxes and wrought iron spiral balconies, with old women hanging out washing, smiling young children (and smiling older men, but not in a good way).
Before we noticed it was well past 7pm and we were all sent back to the metro to head home. Taking my standard route home, I had a dinner of crackers, bread and apricot puree followed by a trip to Marche FranPrix were we brought fresh pastries from the boulangerie amidst the locals buying baguettes (its not a stereotype, there are almost more baguettes here than people, obviously that wouldn't be possible if you think logically but you get my drift).
A cooler night is welcome after the stifling heat from the previous days. Tomorrow is set aside for buying a cellphone and exploring an arrondisement while Sunday might be a trip to Versailles!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Pour un rire.
"You're going to have to speak really slowly, I can't understand anything you're saying".
The teacher's response to me introducing myself. In english.
The teacher's response to me introducing myself. In english.
Homework?
Eating Trolli in bed, my feet finally able to rest after a long day of pounding the pavement (and most of the time lost). It is 11.10pm and I just finished dinner (packet Spaghetti Bolognese actually, straight to the top of the 'all I have in my hostel is a microwave' department. Not joking, not even a kettle or a toaster in the vicinity. Turns out the French don't like hot drinks or toasted bread).
The heat woke me up again this morning, curtains closed and windows open yet the heat seems to permeate into my room and thus my natural morning wake up call was at an orderly 7.25am. With no class until 1.30pm I thought a stroll around the area would help me locate my surroundings but I quickly got lost in the beauty of the streets, the buildings and the people. I walked down long rues, flanked by large trees, the autumn leaves descending on the pavement and covering up the mounds of dog poo (it is lessening, the fine for not picking up after your dog in France is ridiculous. You might as well kill someone instead). The morning sun was intense and the shade of the buildings was a welcome delight.
The lack of any defined grid to the streets made not getting lost impossible so after at least 30 mintues of walking I realised I actually had no clue where I was. Luckily my hostel is located right next to a huge stadium which includes 50 ft high lights so looking up and accross the horizon, my eye was led to the right direction.
Thanks to the beautiful location of my accomodation, it is clearly a hot spot for fitness enthusiasts (and makes everyone else feel terrible in the process. They run, I go to the Boulangerie). Approached by a friendly looking man (or so I assume, it was kind of hard to see his face below a thick layer of sweat), I had my first real, lengthy conversation in french. Surprisingly, he seemed to marginally understand some of what I said (either that or his head bopping was from sheer exhaustion). He patiently waited as I struggled with verb tenses and feminine/masculine nouns (my conclusion: simply guess and mumble).
I was impressed once again with the understanding the french seem to have with foreigners (or so I have encountered) but this quickly changed when he told me he was heading to the park to do some weight lifting and whether I would like to join him as I had what he classified as un corps physique. I'm thinking this was either a.) sarcasm b.) his eyesight was blurry due to his sweat, c.) I misunderstood him or d.) I should seriously consider cutting down on my daily visits to the Boulangerie. Needless to say, I didn't accept. I might have to wait a week or two (read: never) before I go weight lifting with a french man.
The second half of my day was filled with Uni related activities. After catching the metro successfully to SP (I think I'm getting the hang of acting like I know where I'm going), I had a 2 hour class on the art of oral presentations in which my dozing had nothing to do with the course content and everything to do with the heat of the room. It was out of my control. Followed by a one and a half hour class on tips to delivering successful oral presentations. This class began with an introduction session which normally I hate but something about being in a class full of people from Korea, Brazil, American, Slovakia, China, Canada and Thailand (just to name a few, honestly, we could have done a Model UN tournament with the number of nationalities we represented) made the intro's fascinating and funny. This may be in part due to one question we had to answer which was something weird about ourselves. Never have I felt so normal after the answers I heard.
Downside to class: homework. One week, two oral presentations (one in front of the Centre Pompidou, can't complain there) and two essays. Welcome programme say what? Finally we were released and I met up with a friend who was having a coffee at the local cafe. I joined her and 5 other friendly strangers (Norway, Ireland, England, Singapore and New Zealand, OMG!!) for a cafe au lait followed by a spontaneous trip to the Eiffel Tower. It was actually the first visit since I've been here! There's something so captivating about the tower, like no matter how many times you've seen it, you can never remove the sheer beauty it represents. No photo can truly do justice to the real life version. Its breath taking.
We even stumbled upon a movie being made. The street was filled with old cars and cameras and people were everywhere! We got a photo with a car so the movie better become massive so we can cash in on it. With exhaustion quickly setting in, we caught the metro for a long ride back to the cite, street singers serenading us all the way back.
The heat woke me up again this morning, curtains closed and windows open yet the heat seems to permeate into my room and thus my natural morning wake up call was at an orderly 7.25am. With no class until 1.30pm I thought a stroll around the area would help me locate my surroundings but I quickly got lost in the beauty of the streets, the buildings and the people. I walked down long rues, flanked by large trees, the autumn leaves descending on the pavement and covering up the mounds of dog poo (it is lessening, the fine for not picking up after your dog in France is ridiculous. You might as well kill someone instead). The morning sun was intense and the shade of the buildings was a welcome delight.
The lack of any defined grid to the streets made not getting lost impossible so after at least 30 mintues of walking I realised I actually had no clue where I was. Luckily my hostel is located right next to a huge stadium which includes 50 ft high lights so looking up and accross the horizon, my eye was led to the right direction.
Thanks to the beautiful location of my accomodation, it is clearly a hot spot for fitness enthusiasts (and makes everyone else feel terrible in the process. They run, I go to the Boulangerie). Approached by a friendly looking man (or so I assume, it was kind of hard to see his face below a thick layer of sweat), I had my first real, lengthy conversation in french. Surprisingly, he seemed to marginally understand some of what I said (either that or his head bopping was from sheer exhaustion). He patiently waited as I struggled with verb tenses and feminine/masculine nouns (my conclusion: simply guess and mumble).
I was impressed once again with the understanding the french seem to have with foreigners (or so I have encountered) but this quickly changed when he told me he was heading to the park to do some weight lifting and whether I would like to join him as I had what he classified as un corps physique. I'm thinking this was either a.) sarcasm b.) his eyesight was blurry due to his sweat, c.) I misunderstood him or d.) I should seriously consider cutting down on my daily visits to the Boulangerie. Needless to say, I didn't accept. I might have to wait a week or two (read: never) before I go weight lifting with a french man.
The second half of my day was filled with Uni related activities. After catching the metro successfully to SP (I think I'm getting the hang of acting like I know where I'm going), I had a 2 hour class on the art of oral presentations in which my dozing had nothing to do with the course content and everything to do with the heat of the room. It was out of my control. Followed by a one and a half hour class on tips to delivering successful oral presentations. This class began with an introduction session which normally I hate but something about being in a class full of people from Korea, Brazil, American, Slovakia, China, Canada and Thailand (just to name a few, honestly, we could have done a Model UN tournament with the number of nationalities we represented) made the intro's fascinating and funny. This may be in part due to one question we had to answer which was something weird about ourselves. Never have I felt so normal after the answers I heard.
Downside to class: homework. One week, two oral presentations (one in front of the Centre Pompidou, can't complain there) and two essays. Welcome programme say what? Finally we were released and I met up with a friend who was having a coffee at the local cafe. I joined her and 5 other friendly strangers (Norway, Ireland, England, Singapore and New Zealand, OMG!!) for a cafe au lait followed by a spontaneous trip to the Eiffel Tower. It was actually the first visit since I've been here! There's something so captivating about the tower, like no matter how many times you've seen it, you can never remove the sheer beauty it represents. No photo can truly do justice to the real life version. Its breath taking.
We even stumbled upon a movie being made. The street was filled with old cars and cameras and people were everywhere! We got a photo with a car so the movie better become massive so we can cash in on it. With exhaustion quickly setting in, we caught the metro for a long ride back to the cite, street singers serenading us all the way back.
Around the world.
Leaving Christchurch's snow capped surroundings
Plane food!
Dubai.
My new city.
Spot the tower.
Plane food!
Dubai.
My new city.
Spot the tower.
FYI
Paris' most common toilet paper colour is peach.
(This research was conducted in a personal study and is not associated with any company).
(This research was conducted in a personal study and is not associated with any company).
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Pour un rire
"What's the national sport for females in New Zealand?"
"Netball"
"Net..ball? What's net...ball?"
"Netball"
"Net..ball? What's net...ball?"
Birthday girl.
Can't believe my birthday was yesterday, feels like weeks ago. Today has been chock-a-block full. Of goodness, of course. While yesterday was spent gloriously strolling the streets, staring in awe at the bizarre ways of the French, visiting every Boulangerie we could find and stopping every 5 metres to take photos of the buildings, today was exhausting. In the best possible way.
Setting my alarm for 7am when jet-lag hasn't fully fled my body was hard enough, waking up at 7.10 (luckily) to find the phone I had set my alarm on was still on New Zealand time and not going to go off was harder. Shower and breakfast rush complete in 30 minutes, we made it to the metro station in enough time. We thought. Mastering the metro was never going to be easy but figuring out the strange system in the midst of rush hour traffic in a city of 8 million is like flying to the moon in a teacup.
When we finally found the right metro and the numerous transfers (3, yes 3) were complete we arrived at Boulevard St Germain to realise we had no idea how to get to l'universite from there. Thank God for friendly locals. For a city blasted for its tight lipped, stern faced residents, I have only encountered the friendliest bunch. Pointed in the right direction we found Sciences Po. Situated in one of the most beautiful and old arrondisements of Paris, the batiment is undeniably stunning. Gaining a free t-shirt and signing up for the first bank we were approached by, we then gathered in the biggest amphitheatre I have possibly ever seen.
While I'm not normally one to find delight in sitting in a wooden chair for 3 hours in intense heat, it was amazing. Every presentation was delivered in both french and english and the array of activities, groups and offers we were told about was exciting to say the least. I can already see the semester will end before I know it and I will spend all Christmas begging SP to let me stay longer.
Our lecture was followed by a short trip to the Monoprix to buy le dejeuner (un sandwich jambon et un orangina pour moi) and un pic nic at the Luxembourg gardens. Come on. How cool is that. The park was filled with parents and young children on the playground, old men playing petanque and yelling avidly at each other, men and women playing tennis at the free courts and tourists strolling the pavements, looking every which way to soak up the glory. I include myself in this last category.
We walked back to SP, through rows of the highest end shops (think Chanel, Dior and Cartier) which signify SP's location in one of the most prosperous arrondisements. This was followed by another lecture on essay writing (this time the room had gained 10 degrees).
When we managed to escape, I joined two American's to stroll the streets for Ben and Jerry's. Mission overrided: we found Haagen Daaz (total spelling guess, please ignore inaccuracies). We ate outside Le Deux Magots, the well known cafe due to its prestigious clients (back in the day obviously, though I still looked to see if Brad Pitt or Madonna was luxuriating there with a cafe au lait).
As I write this the sounds of young boys playing soccer waft in my window, the humid Paris night air an invitation not to miss. Tonights plan involves the second stop of SP's 'one bar a night' acitivity. Let's hope the metro is kind to me this time.
Paris in summer is unbeatable.
Setting my alarm for 7am when jet-lag hasn't fully fled my body was hard enough, waking up at 7.10 (luckily) to find the phone I had set my alarm on was still on New Zealand time and not going to go off was harder. Shower and breakfast rush complete in 30 minutes, we made it to the metro station in enough time. We thought. Mastering the metro was never going to be easy but figuring out the strange system in the midst of rush hour traffic in a city of 8 million is like flying to the moon in a teacup.
When we finally found the right metro and the numerous transfers (3, yes 3) were complete we arrived at Boulevard St Germain to realise we had no idea how to get to l'universite from there. Thank God for friendly locals. For a city blasted for its tight lipped, stern faced residents, I have only encountered the friendliest bunch. Pointed in the right direction we found Sciences Po. Situated in one of the most beautiful and old arrondisements of Paris, the batiment is undeniably stunning. Gaining a free t-shirt and signing up for the first bank we were approached by, we then gathered in the biggest amphitheatre I have possibly ever seen.
While I'm not normally one to find delight in sitting in a wooden chair for 3 hours in intense heat, it was amazing. Every presentation was delivered in both french and english and the array of activities, groups and offers we were told about was exciting to say the least. I can already see the semester will end before I know it and I will spend all Christmas begging SP to let me stay longer.
Our lecture was followed by a short trip to the Monoprix to buy le dejeuner (un sandwich jambon et un orangina pour moi) and un pic nic at the Luxembourg gardens. Come on. How cool is that. The park was filled with parents and young children on the playground, old men playing petanque and yelling avidly at each other, men and women playing tennis at the free courts and tourists strolling the pavements, looking every which way to soak up the glory. I include myself in this last category.
We walked back to SP, through rows of the highest end shops (think Chanel, Dior and Cartier) which signify SP's location in one of the most prosperous arrondisements. This was followed by another lecture on essay writing (this time the room had gained 10 degrees).
When we managed to escape, I joined two American's to stroll the streets for Ben and Jerry's. Mission overrided: we found Haagen Daaz (total spelling guess, please ignore inaccuracies). We ate outside Le Deux Magots, the well known cafe due to its prestigious clients (back in the day obviously, though I still looked to see if Brad Pitt or Madonna was luxuriating there with a cafe au lait).
As I write this the sounds of young boys playing soccer waft in my window, the humid Paris night air an invitation not to miss. Tonights plan involves the second stop of SP's 'one bar a night' acitivity. Let's hope the metro is kind to me this time.
Paris in summer is unbeatable.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
First taste.
Arrival in Paris: complete! Despite flying 30 hours around the world, through snow, sun and humidity, falling asleep and having near misses with boarding calls, I finally made it to the City of Lights.
Yesterday was spent lugging our 28kg luggage (this is 'life in a bag' situation if that makes the huge weight any more justifiable) around Paris. From a 20 minute train in sweaty, sticky heat, changing lines and catching a metro followed by getting off the metro, getting lost, using the ticket too many times and getting blocked out of the station then resorting to taking a taxi and being typical New Zealaner's in the inability to flag a cab, Paris has so far been interesting. The first night was spent in the cutest wee hostel, with the very french name of 'Aloha'.
When the sun finally began to set and the outside temperature became slightly more bearable, we pounded the pavement and sighed in awe at our new location and the beautiful buildings. Planning to get dinner at the supermarche was quickly interrupted by the sight of the top of le tour Eiffel poking through between the buildings. This quickly turned dinner into a mad escapade to get closer to the tower. Result: we got lost.
We eventually gave up on the tower (when it began to get dark), got some chips, waffles and biscuits (dinner of tourists, fascinated by the selection of foreign food) and headed home. Of courses, we got lost. But we made it back before it was too dark and our heads hit the pillow in exhaustion.
Today was spent much the same but with an added bonus of it being MY 21ST BRITHDAY AND IM IN PARIS FOR IT! No biggie. Right now my eyes are telling me they need to be shut, so the first day of my 22nd year of birth will be told tomorrow.
Bon soir!
Yesterday was spent lugging our 28kg luggage (this is 'life in a bag' situation if that makes the huge weight any more justifiable) around Paris. From a 20 minute train in sweaty, sticky heat, changing lines and catching a metro followed by getting off the metro, getting lost, using the ticket too many times and getting blocked out of the station then resorting to taking a taxi and being typical New Zealaner's in the inability to flag a cab, Paris has so far been interesting. The first night was spent in the cutest wee hostel, with the very french name of 'Aloha'.
When the sun finally began to set and the outside temperature became slightly more bearable, we pounded the pavement and sighed in awe at our new location and the beautiful buildings. Planning to get dinner at the supermarche was quickly interrupted by the sight of the top of le tour Eiffel poking through between the buildings. This quickly turned dinner into a mad escapade to get closer to the tower. Result: we got lost.
We eventually gave up on the tower (when it began to get dark), got some chips, waffles and biscuits (dinner of tourists, fascinated by the selection of foreign food) and headed home. Of courses, we got lost. But we made it back before it was too dark and our heads hit the pillow in exhaustion.
Today was spent much the same but with an added bonus of it being MY 21ST BRITHDAY AND IM IN PARIS FOR IT! No biggie. Right now my eyes are telling me they need to be shut, so the first day of my 22nd year of birth will be told tomorrow.
Bon soir!
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