My last 2 days in Paris. Said goodbye to Angelina Jolie and Cilnei this morning; was sad to see them go, I had a great time with them and they were really down to earth people...can't say as much for some of the other people I met there. Last night I showed Ana my war letters from my Grandma, and she was very, very interested in them. I didn't fully understand why at first, I mean I think the letters are fascinating, but aren't everyone's cup of tea. But for a country like Brazil who had nothing to do with WW1 and only read about them, for her to see them in person was surreal and compelling. She had a huge smile on her face the whole time and said "Wow...this is so great...it's better than the Louvre!" That was a pretty awesome comment.
Said goodbye to Hubert as well, he was really cool. I'm glad I hung out with him and spoke french instead of those other canadians, one of whom was some girl from Toronto who spoke really loud especially when she was drunk and wouldn't shut the hell up about herself.
Again with the money issues...again the deja vu about that. Went to a Western Union to get my SECOND emergency Visa money transfer thanks to Vancity Savings and Credit Union...walked all the way to the Post Office and read a sign in the doorway ¨Les Services Western Union sont suspendus." I won't bother translating that for you. Spent more of my morning finding other locations. Walked 30 mins and it was the same story at the next one. Finally found one that worked, and I was back in the game with some cash... thank Baby Jesus. On the way back from the Post Office I bumped into Joelle again; small world! Small neighbourhood at least!
Walked to the Metro and went to Republique, where I found a cool shop and bought myself a very special souvenir of Paris. I saw it a long time ago and finally got a chance to get one here...
Wandered through the Marais again, the protests and parades were still ongoing...tons of people in the streets. Whaddya know! They have Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream here in Paris...Cookie Dough Ice Cream? Yes please. I went to this "Photo Service" place where they backed up my photos on DVD for a bargain price of 30 euros for 2 DVDs, one of which only had like 100 photos on it. That's like over 40 dollars people. Oh well, I had no choice really, and it was at this point I realized I needed a netbook. But peace of mind can cost alot sometimes so I bit the bullet.
Then I went to one of my favourite stores called WE. Wish we had it in Canada, I always find stuff I like. Bought a tshirt and by God in heaven they had pants that fit me. And then something happened...I was in the changeroom, and I put my brand new Ipod Nano on a little shelf to get it out of the way. I had the thought right then "better not leave it there"...well, I bought the stuff and head to the metro..then 10 mins later I realized I left it behind! Goddammit...I ran back and the stores were all closing. I got to the store and the gate was closed but I talked to the guys inside and got them to check the change room....and of course, it was gone. SHIT.
You know, chances were slim to get it back, I know. But I do know that in Canada there would at least be a SLIGHT chance that someone would bring it to the front desk so that the person could come back for it. Maybe less likely for an ipod, but a cell phone for sure. I know I was with my buddy Anthony and he found an Iphone on the lawn by the side of the road once. He just left it on and waited for someone to call, and they did and he gave it back. Just what we do in Canada. But honestly, I wouldn´t doubt the possibility that the worker dude at the shop went back there, the ipod was still there, he put it in his pocket and came back and said "Sorry, didnt find it." Something about french guys who will take anything they can get at any cost to anyone else. At least that's the sense I get in Paris, as I did back then too. Oh well, I had a feeling I was never destined to have that ipod, even though it was a gift from the show I worked on. So I didn't lose money per se but it's still a real pain in the ass.
And then I went outside and it started raining. Ah yes, this is the Paris I know too, cold and wet. Went and got some crappy chinese food and felt pretty bummed. So there was the last piece of the deja vu puzzle; years ago I was at a bar with my Italian friend Emilia and I had my Minidisc, YES MINIDISC player (ya now you know I'm old) in the pocket of my favourite jacket, on the back of the chair I was sitting in. She was facing me the whole time, keep in mind...and we got up to leave and my jacket was gone. It wasn't the monetary value of the things. My music, my favourite jacket, gone. And Emilia saw nothing and she was facing me! Damn these thieves are slick...So yes, like back then, I lost my music. Not quite the same way, but it was still stolen.
Feeling full of fried rice and nems (french word for spring rolls? WTF), I decided to do the one big thing I never got to do way back then: Go on a Bateau Mouche tour on the Seine. So I went down to Ile de la Cite and bought a big tall Heineken and sat in the front of the boat. Only 12 euros for a more than an hour tour. I'm impressed. Kinda spitting rain and I was sitting outside. Then my spirits lifted high: the boat started to move, and I was headed down the Seine at night with my camera in hand looking at all the beautifully lit monuments and buildings. It stopped raining too. Then everyone came out to the front where I was with their cameras too. Inching closer and closer to the Eiffel Tower, passing under the impressive bridges, while a cute french girl gives us some rushed and unrehearsed tour guide comments about everything we're seeing in a heavy french accent. We stop and turn around at the Eiffel Tower. No matter what happened that day, I couldn't help but smile like a fool when I'm looking up at that big bright thing in the night. It really is damned impressive. We just missed the interval for all the sparkly lights, but it was still amazing. We turned back and went around the islands by Notre Dame. I never got to learn so much about the bridges. So cool to see the kids along the Seine crowded together just hanging out...some great memories just like that. We rounded L'ile St. Louis and Paris' most expensive apartments, and we came to a bridge that they say if it's your first time going under, you have to turn and kiss the person next to you and make a wish...ok dammit, this was already a pretty damned romantic boatride and they had to rub it in my face...there was some old dude hanging out with his married friends, I wasn't about to make his night so I just looked around and enjoyed it vicariously through the other couples...without being creepy as much as I could.
I bought a Nutella Crepe and a Desperados beer...I remember those flavours so well. Do we get Desperados in Canada? Someone help me find it later. Anyways, I also found a little padlock at the corner store. For a project later...
Last day in Paris. Lots to do. Got up and went to the Sacre Coeur. Nice sunny cold day now. Got some great daytime pics of the Basilique. And of course got harassed by the dudes who want to put a bracelet on your wrist for "free". They are really aggressive, I walked past him saying "no no no" and he yelled back at me "Hey! Don't be Chinese!" Uuuhm...ok. I think I understand but wow. Bartered with one of the souvenir dudes and bought a decent sized Eiffel Tower for my new apartment when I get back. Hey, I´m allowed to have one :) Wandered through the Marais one last time and went to get a Shawarma again, but it was closed for some dumb reason and the lineup at another one was ridiculous...so I tried a fancy new crepe place and it was awesome. I watched him place the cheese intentionally so it spilled onto the grill so there was a yummy burnt crust on the outside..mmm...Went and sat in a park I sat in once with my mom when she came with me back then. Wandered to Centre Pompidou and there was this street performer dude named Phillipe who interacted with the crowd and imitated people as they walked through his "stage" he was actually pretty damned funny I don't usually laugh at those guys but he was good.
I went to the Larry Clark exhibit way on the other side of town, and discovered the line was about 6 hours long...maybe shorter, I decided I could spend my last day in a lineup or go do other stuff...so I did the latter. I made my way north to the giant flea market I went to before. SO awesome, everyone must go there sometime. But just outside it are more street vendors..and this time, even being more mature, fluent in french, and just plain bigger, I felt less safe by myself than last time. These french dudes are always looking for a way in and would fuck you over if they had the chance. Just don't give it to them is all. Wandered through the little stalls of antique furniture and knick knacks, and I bought some more awesome vintage 100 year old postcards of Paris. So cool. I also found another cool knicknacky place, but I bought a gift for someone there so I don't want to talk about it or type the word knickknkank anymore.
Rounded the corner at one point and saw 2 young punk kids smoking hash: they stopped talking and gave me a once over, they knew I was a foreigner...little pricks, just try it this time...I dunno if I ever explained that one early morning 7 years ago some of those kids were wandering through the metro train I was on and they saw my cell phone and jumped on top of me trying to take the phone and were punching me. Thankfully they didn't get it but then they followed me to my connection and sat next to me on the subway, about 10 of them. As every stop grew closer to mine I predicted they would get off at mine and follow me...thankfully I ran home lightning fast as soon as I got there so they never got the chance...
Took the train to St Michel and had Goat Cheese Fondue for my last meal in Paris...mmmm....so good.
Hey maybe it's cliche, but If you've been to Pont des Arts lately in Paris, it's covered in padlocks inscribed with couples's in love initials. Some just one lock, some two interlocked. All different kinds of locks...I got some great pics there. They weren't there 7 years ago I'm sure, but I spent a lot of time on that bridge with friends. In keeping with the new tradition, I scratched my name on the lock and went and put it on. Felt so cheesy but awesome at the same time.
I'll miss the way the metro voice lady sounds like Homer Simpson saying "Bed goes up! Bed goes down." as she says the name of the station twice. "Barbes Rochechouart! Barbes Rochechouart." Ill miss pronouncing that place too...haha I remember a cute little french girl trying to pronounce it "Barbes Roch...Rochefort" And the dad said " Non non, c'est Barbes ROCHECHOUART." I'll miss the time some girl got on the metro with a vintage chair, and there were no seats for her, so she put it down and sat on it and smiled and turned to me and shrugged her shoulders. In fact that same little girl who was trying to pronounce the word was on that trip, and the chair girl was deep in conversation with the guy next to her, and I watched the little girls face as she was so caught up in the other conversation that she was imitating the facial expressions unconsciously...so cute.
I'll miss Paris again this time, but I feel good about leaving it this time. The rest of my trip will be amazing. The beautiful people, the fashion, the crepes, the cafes, the crowded metro, and even the sketchy french guys...k maybe not them. I got to do everything I wanted, except see my friend Kathleen, one of the Canadian girls I met back then who married a french guy and stayed. I really wanted to see her, but it didn't work out.
But this was a great experience and a necessary one. I love this city, but I'm ready to move on, literally and figuratively. A bientot Paris! I'll be back, but next time with someone special to show it around to :)
Next stop, Rome, Italy!!!
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Shakespeare, Larry Clark and Sir Mix-A-Lot...one night only!
So I'm now in a hostel for the first time this trip...been in a 3-star hotel or better until this point, so I've been spoiled. Now I'm in a room with 5 other people. For what it is, St. Christopher's Inn in Paris is pretty good. It actually has a restaurant, a bar, and a nightclub. The beds have little privacy curtains and charging stations and night lights. I would soon realize I would be pretty spoiled by this, as other hostels aren't as dialed. The hostel also happens to be 2 blocks from my first apartment in Paris. I was walking back from the metro and met a couple from Brazil, Ana and Cilnei. I would hang out with them later at the bar and we became good friends. I told Ana she looks like Angelina Jolie but she doesn't think so. Also, I woke up the first morning and met a big tall French guy from Senegal who was sleeping in my room. I came to know him as Hubert, doesn't speak much English. Super cool guy, very ambitious and wants to move to Montreal. But I told him how cold it gets there so he's having to mull it over...
The first night I went and visited Joelle Lenoir, my host-mom for the first part of my stay in Paris. She always has a foreign student staying in one of her rooms, often French-Canadian. Lots of memories in that apartment; it looks the same but with some more modern shelving in the living room. Knick knacks and crocheted art on the walls...we caught up for a bit, and I told her about my trip through Belgium. Turns out she had done a research paper on Canadians in the war for some reason; gave me a copy to bring back to Canada. What are the chances? We went out for dinner to catch up after...had my first pizza of MANY on this trip...ran into some problems later...if you catch my drift...
I'm seeing this place again but I'm still captivated by what I see. Every corner I turn I want to take a picture. It feels so great to feel iinspired to do so. I don't want to take any of this for granted. As I wrote this I'm sitting in Place des Vosges, a beautiful park surrounded by upscale apartments in the classy Marais district. I came here many times, to sit and write, or listen to music, or think. Alot of people here are doing just that: nothing. No ipods, no books, just sitting and watching the fountain, or the young mom being chased by her toddler. Funny how this place makes you want to do that; I can't tell you how many times if at all I've gone to a park in Vancouver just to sit and relax. I grabbed my favourite shawarma, the best in the city: L'As du Falafel. Still don't know what an As is...or do I? So damned delicious and tastes identical to how I remember. Often grab one down the block and head here to enjoy it.
Yesterday after I left the Poubelle (=garbage in french FYI), I wandered down to the Pantheon where Voltaire is buried. There was a chinese movie being shot out there...felt funny to be ushered aside by a French PA! Actually it didn't feel any different and it felt like I hadn't left Vancouver...except for the massive ancient coumned tomb in the background...continued to St. Michel area. Bought some postcards. And...GASP...I went to Starbucks...hahahah....I swear, they did not exist here 7 years ago. But, there was a company called "Columbus Cafe" which sold coffee to go...a completely unknown concept in France. I was convinced it was Starbucks in desguise, they used terms like "tall" and "grande" and sold muffins. Now, I haven't seen one while I've been here but Starbucks is everywhere...curious...The Starbucks guy asked me if I wanted syrup or whipped cream on my coffee...what the HELL is wrong with you of COURSE not. I responded in a less offensive way, but he was still taken aback. What an IDIOT...just kidding he's just doing his job...I guess...
I also tried to find my favourite crepe place, Kiki Mimi, which was Lebanese owned, and they would make this kickass lebanese chicken crepe...Adeel and I would frequent that place at least 3 times a week for one, but it's gone and replaced by a new falafel place. Sounds good, but not the same!
If you ever go to Paris, take a few minutes to wander through Shakespeare and Co. bookstore. A famous english bookstore in Paris, packed to the teets with books in every corner....the library section is upstairs, where you can sit and read whatever you want. Some amazing old original editions of some great books. But it's more the experience of being in there. It's so quiet, as the books as as a perfect sound insulator. I can hear music in the other room. I duck under the low doorway, and find a room with books in stacks on the ground. A piano sits eagerly inviting someone to play. But the music is coming from just around the corner, a young girl sits playing a strange ukelele-type instrument. So beautifully. The place is buzzing with energy, stories to be told by people passing, and the books themselves...I went back near the stairs and down another narrow hall, on my left is a tiny cubby with string lights and a typewriter...again, inviting someone to sit and share. Further down the hall is a room with benches and a table by a bright window, overlooking Notre Dame Cathedral. Not a bad view if you're sitting and reading and look up every once in a while; which one girl is doing right now. But in the corner, another girl sits and reads, unconsciously twisting her hair; her face is facing the other way but I can see her in the reflection of a large mirror with an ornate gold frame. Such a perfect photo opportunity. Alas, the place is so perfectly quiet that the shutter of my camera would disturb the very moment I'm trying to capture. I also don't want to seem creepy...so there's that too :)
Of course, everywhere I go the Metro is still jammed because of the strike. I met my friend Johane again for Japanese food in a new Japanese district in the 1st Arrondissement. No california rolls...but otherwise really yummy! I ordered Edamame for Johane, she never had it before. We had a great chat about all sorts of stuff, including pronounciations. There was a really cool exhibit here on Larry Clark, the director of the cult movie KIDS. But when she said his name I had no idea what the hell she was saying...."Laaarr-chy Claaar-chk"...OOOOOoooh...LARRY CLARK. Haha. Somehow we brought up the subject of eating a muffin. I don't know how much of the english is kept when pronouncing an english word in french...so I tried...and my version caused an unending fit of laughter from her...so now I call her my "muffin"...but the way I like to pronounce it in french.
Back at the hostel I met Ana and Cilnei and Hubert again. Yes, there are plenty of Canadians and Australians and other english speakers there, but except for a few I found most of them to be annoying. I preferred my group. It was Karaoke night at the club. I tore it up with "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-A-Lot. Ana was quite happy about it, and Cilnei and Hubert liked it, but I think I scared off most of the frenchies. Oh well, I have a couple fans at least!
Just 2 more days in Paris and a lot left to see...some bad news, followed by the perfect pick-me-up...
The first night I went and visited Joelle Lenoir, my host-mom for the first part of my stay in Paris. She always has a foreign student staying in one of her rooms, often French-Canadian. Lots of memories in that apartment; it looks the same but with some more modern shelving in the living room. Knick knacks and crocheted art on the walls...we caught up for a bit, and I told her about my trip through Belgium. Turns out she had done a research paper on Canadians in the war for some reason; gave me a copy to bring back to Canada. What are the chances? We went out for dinner to catch up after...had my first pizza of MANY on this trip...ran into some problems later...if you catch my drift...
I'm seeing this place again but I'm still captivated by what I see. Every corner I turn I want to take a picture. It feels so great to feel iinspired to do so. I don't want to take any of this for granted. As I wrote this I'm sitting in Place des Vosges, a beautiful park surrounded by upscale apartments in the classy Marais district. I came here many times, to sit and write, or listen to music, or think. Alot of people here are doing just that: nothing. No ipods, no books, just sitting and watching the fountain, or the young mom being chased by her toddler. Funny how this place makes you want to do that; I can't tell you how many times if at all I've gone to a park in Vancouver just to sit and relax. I grabbed my favourite shawarma, the best in the city: L'As du Falafel. Still don't know what an As is...or do I? So damned delicious and tastes identical to how I remember. Often grab one down the block and head here to enjoy it.
Yesterday after I left the Poubelle (=garbage in french FYI), I wandered down to the Pantheon where Voltaire is buried. There was a chinese movie being shot out there...felt funny to be ushered aside by a French PA! Actually it didn't feel any different and it felt like I hadn't left Vancouver...except for the massive ancient coumned tomb in the background...continued to St. Michel area. Bought some postcards. And...GASP...I went to Starbucks...hahahah....I swear, they did not exist here 7 years ago. But, there was a company called "Columbus Cafe" which sold coffee to go...a completely unknown concept in France. I was convinced it was Starbucks in desguise, they used terms like "tall" and "grande" and sold muffins. Now, I haven't seen one while I've been here but Starbucks is everywhere...curious...The Starbucks guy asked me if I wanted syrup or whipped cream on my coffee...what the HELL is wrong with you of COURSE not. I responded in a less offensive way, but he was still taken aback. What an IDIOT...just kidding he's just doing his job...I guess...
I also tried to find my favourite crepe place, Kiki Mimi, which was Lebanese owned, and they would make this kickass lebanese chicken crepe...Adeel and I would frequent that place at least 3 times a week for one, but it's gone and replaced by a new falafel place. Sounds good, but not the same!
If you ever go to Paris, take a few minutes to wander through Shakespeare and Co. bookstore. A famous english bookstore in Paris, packed to the teets with books in every corner....the library section is upstairs, where you can sit and read whatever you want. Some amazing old original editions of some great books. But it's more the experience of being in there. It's so quiet, as the books as as a perfect sound insulator. I can hear music in the other room. I duck under the low doorway, and find a room with books in stacks on the ground. A piano sits eagerly inviting someone to play. But the music is coming from just around the corner, a young girl sits playing a strange ukelele-type instrument. So beautifully. The place is buzzing with energy, stories to be told by people passing, and the books themselves...I went back near the stairs and down another narrow hall, on my left is a tiny cubby with string lights and a typewriter...again, inviting someone to sit and share. Further down the hall is a room with benches and a table by a bright window, overlooking Notre Dame Cathedral. Not a bad view if you're sitting and reading and look up every once in a while; which one girl is doing right now. But in the corner, another girl sits and reads, unconsciously twisting her hair; her face is facing the other way but I can see her in the reflection of a large mirror with an ornate gold frame. Such a perfect photo opportunity. Alas, the place is so perfectly quiet that the shutter of my camera would disturb the very moment I'm trying to capture. I also don't want to seem creepy...so there's that too :)
Of course, everywhere I go the Metro is still jammed because of the strike. I met my friend Johane again for Japanese food in a new Japanese district in the 1st Arrondissement. No california rolls...but otherwise really yummy! I ordered Edamame for Johane, she never had it before. We had a great chat about all sorts of stuff, including pronounciations. There was a really cool exhibit here on Larry Clark, the director of the cult movie KIDS. But when she said his name I had no idea what the hell she was saying...."Laaarr-chy Claaar-chk"...OOOOOoooh...LARRY CLARK. Haha. Somehow we brought up the subject of eating a muffin. I don't know how much of the english is kept when pronouncing an english word in french...so I tried...and my version caused an unending fit of laughter from her...so now I call her my "muffin"...but the way I like to pronounce it in french.
Back at the hostel I met Ana and Cilnei and Hubert again. Yes, there are plenty of Canadians and Australians and other english speakers there, but except for a few I found most of them to be annoying. I preferred my group. It was Karaoke night at the club. I tore it up with "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-A-Lot. Ana was quite happy about it, and Cilnei and Hubert liked it, but I think I scared off most of the frenchies. Oh well, I have a couple fans at least!
Just 2 more days in Paris and a lot left to see...some bad news, followed by the perfect pick-me-up...
"Luc va a l'ecole, avec son chien Fido..."
Continued from Paris...
It's been over 7 years since I've sat here, in the courtyard at Paris III: Sorbonne Nouvelle, Censier. Feels really strange to be here. It actually feels surreal to come back here. Looks exactly the same as it did back then. But somehow it seems smaller. Did I really grow that much? What the hell? Anyways, the deja vu continues. The weather is the same as it was when I started class, it's the same time of year. Chilly and sunny. I walked through the foyer past the auditioriums. This would be the first place I met any friends here. It was a pretty amazing moment: people from all over the world who don't know each other, meeting for the first time not knowing that they will build friendships and memories that will last for years to come. Little cliques at first, the spanish instantly recognize the spanish speakers, same with the italians, then soon you have a big group of spanish and italians hugging each other and laughing. I love these cultures...so friendly and welcoming. Doesn't really happen in Canada like that.
I met my friend Adeel for the first time here, the only english speaker I hung out with for the first few days; we eventually became great friends. Adeel is one unique guy: half Japanese, half Pakistani. Doesn't have a hometown as he grew up on a ship. Two completely opposing cultures...must make for a challenging upbringing.
Then I met 3 Canadian girls who helped me keep my canadianism while living here. I like being immersed in a totally different life, but it's important to stay connected to what you know. Not everyone has a hometown per se, so I'm grateful for mine.
The cafeteria still smells like burnt cheese. Cigarette smoke lingers in the sitting area. The old beat up piano still sits in the corner. One time between classes I came and sat down and someone jumped on and played "La Valse D'Amelie" from the movie; everyone stopped to listen. I'm pretty sure the same lunch ladies still work there. I grab a coffee from the machine for 50 cents, and head out to the courtyard. Still mainly girls who go to school here. And everyone is the age I was when I was there, around 20 years old. Most of them smoke, and when you're a student on a budget, you buy in bulk. They all have packs of raw tobacco and keep the filters inside. I like how they all have the same method to roll one; they hold the filter in their lips while they pull out a paper. You can walk around town and always see little white things hanging out of the corners of peoples mouths.
Deja vu again: the girl sitting next to me has a Counting Crows song on loop, I can hear it through her headphones. I went to their concert with my friend Rosie while I was here back then. I talked to the girl for a bit, she was a bit surprised to be sitting next to someone who wasn't french, pleasantly though. I told her about the concert...she asked me if I liked it here, I said yes, of course. I soon let her get back to her break, and her song on loop.
Kids pile out into the courtyard in groups after class, light up a smoke, check their phones. Just like any other school really. I'm starting to feel like my time has come and gone. I was here, had an amazing year, and left. And it's over. And I'm cool with it. Because this trip has been so amazing so far, and I've had great new memories.
I think it's really easy to get stuck in the past, especially when one is very sentimental, like I know I am. But you have to blindly trust that when you do new things, those are new memories...which very well might be as good if not better than your old ones. And if you do more new things, you don't look back at that "one time" that everything seemed to be perfect; you look back and realize it's just one moment among many.
So I've let go of "La Sorbonne Poubelle", but it's time to check out some old spots, and some new ones, and meet some old friends...and some new ones too...
It's been over 7 years since I've sat here, in the courtyard at Paris III: Sorbonne Nouvelle, Censier. Feels really strange to be here. It actually feels surreal to come back here. Looks exactly the same as it did back then. But somehow it seems smaller. Did I really grow that much? What the hell? Anyways, the deja vu continues. The weather is the same as it was when I started class, it's the same time of year. Chilly and sunny. I walked through the foyer past the auditioriums. This would be the first place I met any friends here. It was a pretty amazing moment: people from all over the world who don't know each other, meeting for the first time not knowing that they will build friendships and memories that will last for years to come. Little cliques at first, the spanish instantly recognize the spanish speakers, same with the italians, then soon you have a big group of spanish and italians hugging each other and laughing. I love these cultures...so friendly and welcoming. Doesn't really happen in Canada like that.
I met my friend Adeel for the first time here, the only english speaker I hung out with for the first few days; we eventually became great friends. Adeel is one unique guy: half Japanese, half Pakistani. Doesn't have a hometown as he grew up on a ship. Two completely opposing cultures...must make for a challenging upbringing.
Then I met 3 Canadian girls who helped me keep my canadianism while living here. I like being immersed in a totally different life, but it's important to stay connected to what you know. Not everyone has a hometown per se, so I'm grateful for mine.
The cafeteria still smells like burnt cheese. Cigarette smoke lingers in the sitting area. The old beat up piano still sits in the corner. One time between classes I came and sat down and someone jumped on and played "La Valse D'Amelie" from the movie; everyone stopped to listen. I'm pretty sure the same lunch ladies still work there. I grab a coffee from the machine for 50 cents, and head out to the courtyard. Still mainly girls who go to school here. And everyone is the age I was when I was there, around 20 years old. Most of them smoke, and when you're a student on a budget, you buy in bulk. They all have packs of raw tobacco and keep the filters inside. I like how they all have the same method to roll one; they hold the filter in their lips while they pull out a paper. You can walk around town and always see little white things hanging out of the corners of peoples mouths.
Deja vu again: the girl sitting next to me has a Counting Crows song on loop, I can hear it through her headphones. I went to their concert with my friend Rosie while I was here back then. I talked to the girl for a bit, she was a bit surprised to be sitting next to someone who wasn't french, pleasantly though. I told her about the concert...she asked me if I liked it here, I said yes, of course. I soon let her get back to her break, and her song on loop.
Kids pile out into the courtyard in groups after class, light up a smoke, check their phones. Just like any other school really. I'm starting to feel like my time has come and gone. I was here, had an amazing year, and left. And it's over. And I'm cool with it. Because this trip has been so amazing so far, and I've had great new memories.
I think it's really easy to get stuck in the past, especially when one is very sentimental, like I know I am. But you have to blindly trust that when you do new things, those are new memories...which very well might be as good if not better than your old ones. And if you do more new things, you don't look back at that "one time" that everything seemed to be perfect; you look back and realize it's just one moment among many.
So I've let go of "La Sorbonne Poubelle", but it's time to check out some old spots, and some new ones, and meet some old friends...and some new ones too...
Monday, October 25, 2010
Dead celebrities, bus tours and...bar fights?
I woke up late (finally) this morning to a quiet and slightly chilly but beautiful and stylish apartment to myself in Como, Italy. The wind is whistling at the windows and it's pissing rain pretty hard. Turned on the TV and eventually figured out how to change the channel to MTV, so I could see what the kids are listening to these days. The signal keeps cutting out everytime the wind picks up. Out the window, the old fashioned TV antennas equipped with new satellite dishes sway back and forth on the tile rooftops. Turns out it's mostly stuff we hear back in Canada. But it's kinda nice to hear a bit of a reminder of where I'm from. A complete immersion into another culture might be a bit too much.
I made myself some breakfast and a caffe americano by using their espresso machine and boiling some water in a pot on the stove. I love italian coffee but I wanted to sip a big cup of something while I watched TV and checked my email.
Maybe it's just the cheeziness in me but I started hearing a few things from the TV while I was half paying attention and typing. A random interview with Arcade Fire was on about their continuing rise in popularity...whom I actually saw in concert a couple days before my trip.
"When you're on the right track you can surprise yourself a bit." - Arcade Fire guy
Hey, its not too deep or anything, but I heard it. Signs everywhere that I'm doing the right thing. Maybe I'm more open to hearing it now. Every day has been so different beyond anything I could dream up. This lack of control and knowledge is so liberating and, necessary. I have no idea whatsoever what I'll be doing tomorrow. It's really damned exciting.
So yes, I realize I haven't posted on my blog in a long while...I've been just too damned busy doing stuff that there's barely been time to reflect on what I've done, which in reality is exactly what I've needed. But I still definitely want to share my experience on this blog, and now that I have a day to relax I can do that. Who knows how long it will take me though to catch up, as my days have been filled with awesomeness.
I also realize I should have bought a netbook before coming so I could type when i dont have internet, check my email and post when I do, and have a place to back up all my photos...for anyone wanting to travel like I have i highly recommend this. My plan was not to be attached to my computer and emails etc while i was travelling...but it's been inevitable when I've chosen to do this blog. Also, typing on italian and especially french keyboards is a pain in the ass, so pardon the occasional lack of punctuation. And as for my photos I've had to pay thru the nose to back them up on dvd...so a portable hard drive or a computer would have been nice.
I'll get back to Como later....you won't believe where I went while I was here...and just prior I lived it up in Rome and then made a spontaneous trip to Pompei...stay tuned for that story too...
Let's pick back up in Paris; I better get started because SO much has happened...
*****
So after little sleep due to a long conversation with Visa the night before, we woke up, had a late breakfast and went to the Number One spot on my list, a place I never went when I lived here before: La Cimetiere Pere Lachaise. So glad to have had my 50mm lens for this...some awesome shots here. Buried at this famous cemetery you will find Chopin, Modigliani, Jim Morrison, Paris' beloved Edith Piaf, and Oscar Wilde. His grave was the most impressive of all, a huge sculpture covered in adoring graffiti, messages, quotes and...lipstick kisses. So interesting...fans from all over the world, including many gay supporters. Grandma wasn't at all impressed though; considering we just came from war memorials where such behaviour couldn't be more disrespectful...so I know where she's coming from. I'm really impressed she was able to walk up the steep cobblestone hills of the cemetery on her new knee too; a pretty huge walk and we just started the day.
We then stopped for an amazing lunch at a random Brasserie near Porte de Gambetta north of the Cemetery. I've been amazed that we haven't had a single bad meal this whole time. I mean we could easily have ordered the wrong thing or picked a bad restaurant...but i think it's a combination of good luck and just that there's great food everywhere.
It was then time to head to the Eiffel Tower; Grandma had never been, but it would be my fourth time climbing to the top. No complaints whatsoever, I'll never get tired of going up the Eiffel Tower, trust me! But we got there and of coruse the lineup was huge, so we tried the handicap line...and we needed PROOF that she was handicapped. Like, a document. Ah yes, the french will never change. They couldn't just LOOK and SEE she had a cane and we could have showed a driver's license proving her age. Nope, can't do that, can you? I guess there is a massive problem with people pretending they're handicapped in order to skip the line for the Eiffel Tower....*COUGH*...ok.
So instead we decided to reserve for the next day and take a bus tour instead! I never actually thought I would like it but it was actually a good idea! We had headphones that told us a bit about some monuments and in between they played classical music...at one point Grandma turned to me with a big smile and said "This is actually kinda fun!" So cute. We eventually got off halfway thru the tour at Notre Dame and went back to the hotel to rest. Then we went out to dinner to a restaurant we tried to get into 3 nights in a row....there wasn't a free table so we decided to wait it out. Thus began a pretty eventful evening...
I had to do laundry so previously while Grandma rested I ran out and found a laundromat. So before we went to dinner I threw my stuff in the wash. A few locals came in while I was there, including a bum who sat and smoked at the other end of the room, then at one point got up and blew his nose in an old fabric softener sheet. Sexy. So I got back to the hotel and we went to dinner. I had set my timer for the dryer and it was going to go off while we were in line so as to avoid having that bum steal my clothes and wipe his ass with my socks I decided to run back to the laundromat and pick them up. In the meantime, the bartender had seen us and knew we were waiting. We only had 10 mins or so to wait, for the first time the whole trip, I left Grandma's side for 10 mins.
I ran to the laundromat, and ran back to the hotel, and ran back to the restaurant. Our table had just become available; perfect timing. Then everyone in the restaurant were coming up to my Grandma, smiling and saying things like "We're glad you're ok" and "wow that was crazy!" etc., including the restaurant owner and some american girls and a man at another table. So I asked what happened! Apparently, as soon as I left, some of the anglophones standing and drinking nearby noticed my grandmother alone, so invited her to chat. Then some other guy wanted her to have a seat so he asked some guy who was sitting to offer up his seat. That guy got upset and they started arguing and then I think the first guy shoved the other guy and tried to punch him! And in the cafuffle (sp?), Grandma was shoved out of the way and fell partially and a stool hit her leg...the whole time she had no idea what the hell was happening nor did most of the bar. Immediately, the bartender I will soon get to know as Thibault, kicked the guy out who started the whole thing. Apparently the guy was a regular patron too, but now of course is banned from the restaurant.
Grandma was ok, and it was more just an exciting little evening...with a small bruise on her leg as a reminder. I told everyone after, of course I leave her alone for 10 mins and she starts a new French Revolution in the bar...can't leave her alone for a second, jeez... :) Just be careful, she might whoop your ass if your back is turned...
So we had a great meal after all, and it turns out the bartender is the son of the owner and is half french. i chatted a bit more with those americans, and we all decided to meet up for a drink later. I took my rabidly violent Grandmother back to the hotel so she could chill out, and I went out for a drink with the americans. We then went and met up with Thibault at another bar, then I took them to the Moose, the Canadian bar where we all had a few drinks. They wanted to go to karaoke after, but I had a pretty exciting day already...
One of the american girls asked me "I don't get it, I dont speak french but Im always really nice to everyone here and I say 'merci' and 'bonjour' and they're mean to me sometimes!" Well, I basically said "Well it isn't your fault...but it is". I've learned that French people just have different personalities than americans. They take a bit longer to warm up to you but they are still nice...and it REALLY helps if you speak french. I think Parisians are just tired of americans coming and thinking the world is one big amusement park for them where everyone speaks theire language and is there to serve them. French people aren't as 'chipper' and 'happy' as americans (or canadians) can seem at first. That sort of attitude can seem pretentious and just insincere, regardless of intent.
The next day was our last day in Paris. Finally got some money from Visa forwarded to a Western Union, thank god. We had alot to do that day but our priority was getting Grandma a new suitcase. Luckily near the Western Union I spotted a luggage store...thankfully because I didn't know where we would find one. I helped her buy a kickass new carbon-fibre Samsonite suitcase. We then set off to Notre Dame where the bus tour left off and hopped back on. Went by and saw the Opera house, Grandma is a big opera fan. Then we passed thru Place Vendome where the Hotel Ritz is, and made our way up the Champs D'Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe. We had a reservation at the Eiffel Tower for 3pm so we hopped in a cab. Got to the tower just in time. Still a lineup in the reserved line though. We got to the top and Grandma was thrilled. I've never seen Paris like that day, a near cloudless sky and perfect sunshine. Very cool.
We got to the bottom and of course get hoarded by the Senegal black dudes who try to peddle their Eiffel Tower merch. There must be an Eiffel Tower merchandise pimp somewhere who gives them the stuff to sell. Because they are all tall, young guys selling the same stuff. If you pay attention, the tattered sheets that they lay on the ground and set up all their stuff on have little strings on the corners...for when shit goes down, like it did when we were there. Turns out it's never that serious, but they're operating a business without paying taxes, so the police can arrest them and take their shit. They're released right away though. This happens all day long. But the hilarious part is that as soon as the police catch one, in the blink of an eye, the others all see it and each grab all 4 corners of the sheet and they are GONE like the wind. You should see these guys run...and watch the Famas rifle-toting military dudes chase after them and tackle them....SO FUNNY...maybe I shouldn't laugh but I can't help it.
We headed back to the hotel to rest, and I had arranged to meet with my old Professor Pierre Tomi from school here in Paris. He taught my favourite course while I was there; Paris History. We even did excursions around the city! Now I don't have a great memory for history, but it was fascinating at the time...and he's so nice and I'm glad he kept contact with me, even though I wasn't the top tier student.
We went out to meet him at a cafe and we hadn't eaten all day so we didn't stay long there...but it was great to see him! He lost weight! He's 75 now but looks great...such a pleasant and courteous man. I knew he would get along great with Grandma even if they couldn't really talk to each other. Grandma could speak a tiny bit of french so they could a bit. Before going to the restaurant we went down the street so Pierre could show us something....ever the tour guide! We looked up and he showed us a sign outside the house where Picasso painted "Guernica"...and across the street, the building where Louis XIII was crowned. Crazy!
I left Grandma again briefly, but this time in the trusting care of Pierre while I returned to the hotel to change our taxi to an earlier time because of the metro strike that was to begin the next day. They walked to the restaurant and I met them later. I don't often meet people that I trust completely, but him I do, and it's comforting. We had a decent dinner, a bit strange as this time we weren't quite sure what we were ordering...She got ribs by accident, it was ok but hard to eat. I had an "ile flottante" for dessert, a sort of giant pile of egg white merengue covered in caramel and creme anglaise...yummy but really sweet. We had a great conversation and in fact, a great Thanksgiving Dinner, I realized after!
We got back to the hotel and started to pack. No more 3-4 star hotels for Brendan...boooooo. I'll miss her though, the breakfasts, the dinners, the taxi rides...but also caring for her and helping her realize a dream of travelling somewhere special, to war memorials and a magical city that I know well. I'll even miss when she rambles, because I know she's talking because she feels comfortable knowing I'm there. I hope one day when I'm 83 in the year 2065 I can go to Paris with my grandson...
The next morning we got up early and left Hotel Madison on Boulevard Saint-Germain and hopped in a taxi. Turns out the traffic wasn't as bad as it could be but it would suck to miss the flight. We grabbed a final breakfast together and headed to the gate. It's easier for her to get around an airport in a wheelchair so we preordered the service the day before. We waited a bit for the guy to come, but I had talked to the desk and they said I could accompany her no problem to the gate. It was soon time to go and she hopped in the wheelchair and we were on our way, but then I was told I couldn't go with her. Suddenly there was a rush to get her to the gate as the guy had to help other people and then I went back to the desk and explained how my Grandpa helped her to the gate in Toronto, and suddenly 3 people were yelling at me in french that it's not possible in Paris unless you have a plane ticket etc etc and now we have to go to the security check. I then found myself getting really emotional like they were taking her away from me. He was about to take her thru the gate with letting me say goodbye, so I stopped him, and he asked me to tell her she will be ok and someone will help her when he drops her off. Still being rushed and people talking and metal detectors beeping I leaned down to kiss her goodbye and she was smiling and I told her everything and she wasn't worried and trusted everything would be fine...then I had to say goodbye and looked back to see this nice young man, but still a stranger to me, push my grandma thru the security check while I was immediately being escorted away from the station...I got really upset and angry that I coudn't help her any longer and that they didn't let me go with her...
I was then left with no one to talk to and feeling pretty choked up as I went to find the gate to the rural train back to town....I had no idea it would be that hard to let her go.
At breakfast before she left I asked her what I could bring her for breakfast and with a big grin on her face she said she maybe wanted a doughnut she saw in a display case...She told me that in 1st grade, in 1933 during the depression and her family was poor, she was always late for school because on her walk to school she would stop by the store window and watch them make doughnuts...I just had a vivid image of a little girl standing in front of a store window all bundled up in the cold, watching with big eyes as they made tasty treats right in front of her...
The funny thing is that I don't see an older person, I see a person who is still young at heart, and still has a passion for living...
So I'm sad that I'm now alone. But I soon realize that all is good, and I'm alone in a city I know and love...now it's time to revisit some familiar places...
I made myself some breakfast and a caffe americano by using their espresso machine and boiling some water in a pot on the stove. I love italian coffee but I wanted to sip a big cup of something while I watched TV and checked my email.
Maybe it's just the cheeziness in me but I started hearing a few things from the TV while I was half paying attention and typing. A random interview with Arcade Fire was on about their continuing rise in popularity...whom I actually saw in concert a couple days before my trip.
"When you're on the right track you can surprise yourself a bit." - Arcade Fire guy
Hey, its not too deep or anything, but I heard it. Signs everywhere that I'm doing the right thing. Maybe I'm more open to hearing it now. Every day has been so different beyond anything I could dream up. This lack of control and knowledge is so liberating and, necessary. I have no idea whatsoever what I'll be doing tomorrow. It's really damned exciting.
So yes, I realize I haven't posted on my blog in a long while...I've been just too damned busy doing stuff that there's barely been time to reflect on what I've done, which in reality is exactly what I've needed. But I still definitely want to share my experience on this blog, and now that I have a day to relax I can do that. Who knows how long it will take me though to catch up, as my days have been filled with awesomeness.
I also realize I should have bought a netbook before coming so I could type when i dont have internet, check my email and post when I do, and have a place to back up all my photos...for anyone wanting to travel like I have i highly recommend this. My plan was not to be attached to my computer and emails etc while i was travelling...but it's been inevitable when I've chosen to do this blog. Also, typing on italian and especially french keyboards is a pain in the ass, so pardon the occasional lack of punctuation. And as for my photos I've had to pay thru the nose to back them up on dvd...so a portable hard drive or a computer would have been nice.
I'll get back to Como later....you won't believe where I went while I was here...and just prior I lived it up in Rome and then made a spontaneous trip to Pompei...stay tuned for that story too...
Let's pick back up in Paris; I better get started because SO much has happened...
*****
So after little sleep due to a long conversation with Visa the night before, we woke up, had a late breakfast and went to the Number One spot on my list, a place I never went when I lived here before: La Cimetiere Pere Lachaise. So glad to have had my 50mm lens for this...some awesome shots here. Buried at this famous cemetery you will find Chopin, Modigliani, Jim Morrison, Paris' beloved Edith Piaf, and Oscar Wilde. His grave was the most impressive of all, a huge sculpture covered in adoring graffiti, messages, quotes and...lipstick kisses. So interesting...fans from all over the world, including many gay supporters. Grandma wasn't at all impressed though; considering we just came from war memorials where such behaviour couldn't be more disrespectful...so I know where she's coming from. I'm really impressed she was able to walk up the steep cobblestone hills of the cemetery on her new knee too; a pretty huge walk and we just started the day.
We then stopped for an amazing lunch at a random Brasserie near Porte de Gambetta north of the Cemetery. I've been amazed that we haven't had a single bad meal this whole time. I mean we could easily have ordered the wrong thing or picked a bad restaurant...but i think it's a combination of good luck and just that there's great food everywhere.
It was then time to head to the Eiffel Tower; Grandma had never been, but it would be my fourth time climbing to the top. No complaints whatsoever, I'll never get tired of going up the Eiffel Tower, trust me! But we got there and of coruse the lineup was huge, so we tried the handicap line...and we needed PROOF that she was handicapped. Like, a document. Ah yes, the french will never change. They couldn't just LOOK and SEE she had a cane and we could have showed a driver's license proving her age. Nope, can't do that, can you? I guess there is a massive problem with people pretending they're handicapped in order to skip the line for the Eiffel Tower....*COUGH*...ok.
So instead we decided to reserve for the next day and take a bus tour instead! I never actually thought I would like it but it was actually a good idea! We had headphones that told us a bit about some monuments and in between they played classical music...at one point Grandma turned to me with a big smile and said "This is actually kinda fun!" So cute. We eventually got off halfway thru the tour at Notre Dame and went back to the hotel to rest. Then we went out to dinner to a restaurant we tried to get into 3 nights in a row....there wasn't a free table so we decided to wait it out. Thus began a pretty eventful evening...
I had to do laundry so previously while Grandma rested I ran out and found a laundromat. So before we went to dinner I threw my stuff in the wash. A few locals came in while I was there, including a bum who sat and smoked at the other end of the room, then at one point got up and blew his nose in an old fabric softener sheet. Sexy. So I got back to the hotel and we went to dinner. I had set my timer for the dryer and it was going to go off while we were in line so as to avoid having that bum steal my clothes and wipe his ass with my socks I decided to run back to the laundromat and pick them up. In the meantime, the bartender had seen us and knew we were waiting. We only had 10 mins or so to wait, for the first time the whole trip, I left Grandma's side for 10 mins.
I ran to the laundromat, and ran back to the hotel, and ran back to the restaurant. Our table had just become available; perfect timing. Then everyone in the restaurant were coming up to my Grandma, smiling and saying things like "We're glad you're ok" and "wow that was crazy!" etc., including the restaurant owner and some american girls and a man at another table. So I asked what happened! Apparently, as soon as I left, some of the anglophones standing and drinking nearby noticed my grandmother alone, so invited her to chat. Then some other guy wanted her to have a seat so he asked some guy who was sitting to offer up his seat. That guy got upset and they started arguing and then I think the first guy shoved the other guy and tried to punch him! And in the cafuffle (sp?), Grandma was shoved out of the way and fell partially and a stool hit her leg...the whole time she had no idea what the hell was happening nor did most of the bar. Immediately, the bartender I will soon get to know as Thibault, kicked the guy out who started the whole thing. Apparently the guy was a regular patron too, but now of course is banned from the restaurant.
Grandma was ok, and it was more just an exciting little evening...with a small bruise on her leg as a reminder. I told everyone after, of course I leave her alone for 10 mins and she starts a new French Revolution in the bar...can't leave her alone for a second, jeez... :) Just be careful, she might whoop your ass if your back is turned...
So we had a great meal after all, and it turns out the bartender is the son of the owner and is half french. i chatted a bit more with those americans, and we all decided to meet up for a drink later. I took my rabidly violent Grandmother back to the hotel so she could chill out, and I went out for a drink with the americans. We then went and met up with Thibault at another bar, then I took them to the Moose, the Canadian bar where we all had a few drinks. They wanted to go to karaoke after, but I had a pretty exciting day already...
One of the american girls asked me "I don't get it, I dont speak french but Im always really nice to everyone here and I say 'merci' and 'bonjour' and they're mean to me sometimes!" Well, I basically said "Well it isn't your fault...but it is". I've learned that French people just have different personalities than americans. They take a bit longer to warm up to you but they are still nice...and it REALLY helps if you speak french. I think Parisians are just tired of americans coming and thinking the world is one big amusement park for them where everyone speaks theire language and is there to serve them. French people aren't as 'chipper' and 'happy' as americans (or canadians) can seem at first. That sort of attitude can seem pretentious and just insincere, regardless of intent.
The next day was our last day in Paris. Finally got some money from Visa forwarded to a Western Union, thank god. We had alot to do that day but our priority was getting Grandma a new suitcase. Luckily near the Western Union I spotted a luggage store...thankfully because I didn't know where we would find one. I helped her buy a kickass new carbon-fibre Samsonite suitcase. We then set off to Notre Dame where the bus tour left off and hopped back on. Went by and saw the Opera house, Grandma is a big opera fan. Then we passed thru Place Vendome where the Hotel Ritz is, and made our way up the Champs D'Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe. We had a reservation at the Eiffel Tower for 3pm so we hopped in a cab. Got to the tower just in time. Still a lineup in the reserved line though. We got to the top and Grandma was thrilled. I've never seen Paris like that day, a near cloudless sky and perfect sunshine. Very cool.
We got to the bottom and of course get hoarded by the Senegal black dudes who try to peddle their Eiffel Tower merch. There must be an Eiffel Tower merchandise pimp somewhere who gives them the stuff to sell. Because they are all tall, young guys selling the same stuff. If you pay attention, the tattered sheets that they lay on the ground and set up all their stuff on have little strings on the corners...for when shit goes down, like it did when we were there. Turns out it's never that serious, but they're operating a business without paying taxes, so the police can arrest them and take their shit. They're released right away though. This happens all day long. But the hilarious part is that as soon as the police catch one, in the blink of an eye, the others all see it and each grab all 4 corners of the sheet and they are GONE like the wind. You should see these guys run...and watch the Famas rifle-toting military dudes chase after them and tackle them....SO FUNNY...maybe I shouldn't laugh but I can't help it.
We headed back to the hotel to rest, and I had arranged to meet with my old Professor Pierre Tomi from school here in Paris. He taught my favourite course while I was there; Paris History. We even did excursions around the city! Now I don't have a great memory for history, but it was fascinating at the time...and he's so nice and I'm glad he kept contact with me, even though I wasn't the top tier student.
We went out to meet him at a cafe and we hadn't eaten all day so we didn't stay long there...but it was great to see him! He lost weight! He's 75 now but looks great...such a pleasant and courteous man. I knew he would get along great with Grandma even if they couldn't really talk to each other. Grandma could speak a tiny bit of french so they could a bit. Before going to the restaurant we went down the street so Pierre could show us something....ever the tour guide! We looked up and he showed us a sign outside the house where Picasso painted "Guernica"...and across the street, the building where Louis XIII was crowned. Crazy!
I left Grandma again briefly, but this time in the trusting care of Pierre while I returned to the hotel to change our taxi to an earlier time because of the metro strike that was to begin the next day. They walked to the restaurant and I met them later. I don't often meet people that I trust completely, but him I do, and it's comforting. We had a decent dinner, a bit strange as this time we weren't quite sure what we were ordering...She got ribs by accident, it was ok but hard to eat. I had an "ile flottante" for dessert, a sort of giant pile of egg white merengue covered in caramel and creme anglaise...yummy but really sweet. We had a great conversation and in fact, a great Thanksgiving Dinner, I realized after!
We got back to the hotel and started to pack. No more 3-4 star hotels for Brendan...boooooo. I'll miss her though, the breakfasts, the dinners, the taxi rides...but also caring for her and helping her realize a dream of travelling somewhere special, to war memorials and a magical city that I know well. I'll even miss when she rambles, because I know she's talking because she feels comfortable knowing I'm there. I hope one day when I'm 83 in the year 2065 I can go to Paris with my grandson...
The next morning we got up early and left Hotel Madison on Boulevard Saint-Germain and hopped in a taxi. Turns out the traffic wasn't as bad as it could be but it would suck to miss the flight. We grabbed a final breakfast together and headed to the gate. It's easier for her to get around an airport in a wheelchair so we preordered the service the day before. We waited a bit for the guy to come, but I had talked to the desk and they said I could accompany her no problem to the gate. It was soon time to go and she hopped in the wheelchair and we were on our way, but then I was told I couldn't go with her. Suddenly there was a rush to get her to the gate as the guy had to help other people and then I went back to the desk and explained how my Grandpa helped her to the gate in Toronto, and suddenly 3 people were yelling at me in french that it's not possible in Paris unless you have a plane ticket etc etc and now we have to go to the security check. I then found myself getting really emotional like they were taking her away from me. He was about to take her thru the gate with letting me say goodbye, so I stopped him, and he asked me to tell her she will be ok and someone will help her when he drops her off. Still being rushed and people talking and metal detectors beeping I leaned down to kiss her goodbye and she was smiling and I told her everything and she wasn't worried and trusted everything would be fine...then I had to say goodbye and looked back to see this nice young man, but still a stranger to me, push my grandma thru the security check while I was immediately being escorted away from the station...I got really upset and angry that I coudn't help her any longer and that they didn't let me go with her...
I was then left with no one to talk to and feeling pretty choked up as I went to find the gate to the rural train back to town....I had no idea it would be that hard to let her go.
At breakfast before she left I asked her what I could bring her for breakfast and with a big grin on her face she said she maybe wanted a doughnut she saw in a display case...She told me that in 1st grade, in 1933 during the depression and her family was poor, she was always late for school because on her walk to school she would stop by the store window and watch them make doughnuts...I just had a vivid image of a little girl standing in front of a store window all bundled up in the cold, watching with big eyes as they made tasty treats right in front of her...
The funny thing is that I don't see an older person, I see a person who is still young at heart, and still has a passion for living...
So I'm sad that I'm now alone. But I soon realize that all is good, and I'm alone in a city I know and love...now it's time to revisit some familiar places...
Friday, October 15, 2010
Deja vu...an appropriate french term.
OK so I'm in a bit of a pickle. Vancity decided, right before I left to change their debit network from Plus to Cirrus. Normally, of course I wouldn't give a shit. I only give a shit when I've been in Europe for 2 weeks WITHOUT THE ABILITY TO WITHDRAW CURRENCY. So yes, I'm angry. I'm trying reaaaaaallllly hard not to let this affect my experience here...but when the whole city runs on cash and the places that do take Visa only take it after 10 euros, things get...challenging. Vancity's solution was to get me an emergency cash advance through Visa as I don't have a PIN for it. I'm waiting on my second cash advance now, and I'm pretty much stuck at the hostel until I get it. Thanks, Vancity.
I say deja vu is appropriate because, when I was here studying, I had very little money to work with. Now I come back, I'm not loaded but I brought a bit to enjoy this place a little more. And I can't get to it! Fantastic.
But in reality, I'm still loving every minute of this place. I have a place to sleep, a pair of shoes and a camera. I've already half-filled my 16GB SD card and I've barely started my trip! Oh man, I can't wait to see some of these properly on a screen bigger than 2.5". I'm also hoping they're all in focus from my manual focus 50mm. Thank you Rosie for suggesting that purchase, it's made my trip so far...I love that thing...
So back to Grandma. So we got up the next morning after arriving, and walked from the hotel to the Musee D'Orsay. I went before but I saw some parts I never saw before. I'm quite proud of how much she has walked so far. We found a little store that sold italian linen, I helped her buy a new shirt because damn it's been hot out. We wandered through most of the museum; there was a Van Gogh exhibit, including the famous portrait shot. Pretty cool. It's funny, my only (young) French friend Johane pointed out that when she was in New York, she found it odd that people take pictures of themselves in front of paintings. That's a very American thing to do, and she's right, it doesn't make sense. You take a picture of yourself in front of a building or monument or sunset on a beach that's one thing. But a painting? You're supposed to look at it. And then you might tell people you saw it. But it's art, people know what it looks like, why do you need to show that you stood in front of it?
Anyways, there was some awesome furniture in the museum too I never saw before, and maybe I appreciate more cuz of my job. I didn't realize how cool designer furniture was around the late 1800s to early 1900s. Almost art deco-y but not. We had tea at the restaurant there; was alright, more like a tourist trap than a real tea house, even though the setting and the waiters uniforms might indicate otherwise.
We then hopped in a taxi to the Monet exhibit at Grand Palais...aaaah...SO awesome. We jumped the line again (thanks Grandma!) and I actually took one of those radio guide cell phone things along. Well worth it for this. They basically pulled in all of Monets big works from around the world to create a chronological tour of his art. You could follow how he developed his style, how his relationships and surrounding influenced what he did...so awesome. he painted over 2000 pictures in his lifetime! You want inspiration and story about a man who LOVED what he did, read up on him...Apparently when he was well known, he painted some works in the Gare St. Lazare in Paris...the station pulled in trains, moved through people and even put coal int the stationary trains to give Monet more lighting effects for him to study from the steam. The only downside to it all was in the recordings, they had 'Monet' chime in every once in a while to really 'enhance' the experience....unfortunately the voice acting was TERRIBLE, and Monet spoke in an affected and ridiculous English accent. The quotes were so randomly placed sometimes too. He would just chime in for no reason. Say this in your best crusty, old man, top hat-wearing, monocle-sporting, pipe-toting English accent "I WANTED TO DO THE...ELUSIVE..." I thought I was listening to some shitty Margaret Atwood book on tape or something...
We ate a full on french Brasserie meal at L'Atlas in the St. Germain area. Pretty damn tasty. Grandma had Pear and Lemon sorbet for dessert...what? Yeah, it's good.
I went to meet Johane, my one and only French friend around my age. It is very true, french people even confirmed for me that Parisians really don't have any interest in mingling with foreigners. In the south of France near the social latin cultures you have more luck. But Parisians are very cliquey. They hang out in the bar at my hostel and there's foreigners everywhere but they don't even try to mingle. I'm gonna venture a guess here: I'm gonna say that they're pussies. Usually when people don't want to talk it's because they're shy or scared. I think they're happy to not have to try to speak english or even french to others because they're happy in their own bubble. Johane is an exception and there are a few after her. She came up to me in one of my classes back then because she was studying english and wanted to practice speaking and learn about my country. She's awesome, and she's a perfect example of a beautiful french girl...minus the not-interacting part. Very strong opinions in politics and other things too. Good humble personality. I have to admit I appreciate that aspect of her personality. She's not self-centered in any way and it's awesome. She said she found New Yorkers when she was there to be nice at first but totally transparent, and would say one thing and you'd call the next day and they would bail out. To be honest, at this hostel I'm staying at, I just hung out with this one Senegal-French black guy named Hubert and a couple from Brasil. I met plenty of Canadians and Aussies, but I've got along best with non-native english speakers, they've been much more down to earth.
I got to hang out at a little house party for a bit...I miss those. Cheese and bread and meat and grapes on the table. 1664 Kronenbourg beer....yum. I met her colleague from work, he was pretty cool and we all had some good laughs. I'm glad I've got to practice my french alot here, and relearn some colloquial terms.
Got home and was talking to Visa till 330am...ugh...
Ok, my time is up. The sun just came out. I'm walking to Sacre Coeur.
B
I say deja vu is appropriate because, when I was here studying, I had very little money to work with. Now I come back, I'm not loaded but I brought a bit to enjoy this place a little more. And I can't get to it! Fantastic.
But in reality, I'm still loving every minute of this place. I have a place to sleep, a pair of shoes and a camera. I've already half-filled my 16GB SD card and I've barely started my trip! Oh man, I can't wait to see some of these properly on a screen bigger than 2.5". I'm also hoping they're all in focus from my manual focus 50mm. Thank you Rosie for suggesting that purchase, it's made my trip so far...I love that thing...
So back to Grandma. So we got up the next morning after arriving, and walked from the hotel to the Musee D'Orsay. I went before but I saw some parts I never saw before. I'm quite proud of how much she has walked so far. We found a little store that sold italian linen, I helped her buy a new shirt because damn it's been hot out. We wandered through most of the museum; there was a Van Gogh exhibit, including the famous portrait shot. Pretty cool. It's funny, my only (young) French friend Johane pointed out that when she was in New York, she found it odd that people take pictures of themselves in front of paintings. That's a very American thing to do, and she's right, it doesn't make sense. You take a picture of yourself in front of a building or monument or sunset on a beach that's one thing. But a painting? You're supposed to look at it. And then you might tell people you saw it. But it's art, people know what it looks like, why do you need to show that you stood in front of it?
Anyways, there was some awesome furniture in the museum too I never saw before, and maybe I appreciate more cuz of my job. I didn't realize how cool designer furniture was around the late 1800s to early 1900s. Almost art deco-y but not. We had tea at the restaurant there; was alright, more like a tourist trap than a real tea house, even though the setting and the waiters uniforms might indicate otherwise.
We then hopped in a taxi to the Monet exhibit at Grand Palais...aaaah...SO awesome. We jumped the line again (thanks Grandma!) and I actually took one of those radio guide cell phone things along. Well worth it for this. They basically pulled in all of Monets big works from around the world to create a chronological tour of his art. You could follow how he developed his style, how his relationships and surrounding influenced what he did...so awesome. he painted over 2000 pictures in his lifetime! You want inspiration and story about a man who LOVED what he did, read up on him...Apparently when he was well known, he painted some works in the Gare St. Lazare in Paris...the station pulled in trains, moved through people and even put coal int the stationary trains to give Monet more lighting effects for him to study from the steam. The only downside to it all was in the recordings, they had 'Monet' chime in every once in a while to really 'enhance' the experience....unfortunately the voice acting was TERRIBLE, and Monet spoke in an affected and ridiculous English accent. The quotes were so randomly placed sometimes too. He would just chime in for no reason. Say this in your best crusty, old man, top hat-wearing, monocle-sporting, pipe-toting English accent "I WANTED TO DO THE...ELUSIVE..." I thought I was listening to some shitty Margaret Atwood book on tape or something...
We ate a full on french Brasserie meal at L'Atlas in the St. Germain area. Pretty damn tasty. Grandma had Pear and Lemon sorbet for dessert...what? Yeah, it's good.
I went to meet Johane, my one and only French friend around my age. It is very true, french people even confirmed for me that Parisians really don't have any interest in mingling with foreigners. In the south of France near the social latin cultures you have more luck. But Parisians are very cliquey. They hang out in the bar at my hostel and there's foreigners everywhere but they don't even try to mingle. I'm gonna venture a guess here: I'm gonna say that they're pussies. Usually when people don't want to talk it's because they're shy or scared. I think they're happy to not have to try to speak english or even french to others because they're happy in their own bubble. Johane is an exception and there are a few after her. She came up to me in one of my classes back then because she was studying english and wanted to practice speaking and learn about my country. She's awesome, and she's a perfect example of a beautiful french girl...minus the not-interacting part. Very strong opinions in politics and other things too. Good humble personality. I have to admit I appreciate that aspect of her personality. She's not self-centered in any way and it's awesome. She said she found New Yorkers when she was there to be nice at first but totally transparent, and would say one thing and you'd call the next day and they would bail out. To be honest, at this hostel I'm staying at, I just hung out with this one Senegal-French black guy named Hubert and a couple from Brasil. I met plenty of Canadians and Aussies, but I've got along best with non-native english speakers, they've been much more down to earth.
I got to hang out at a little house party for a bit...I miss those. Cheese and bread and meat and grapes on the table. 1664 Kronenbourg beer....yum. I met her colleague from work, he was pretty cool and we all had some good laughs. I'm glad I've got to practice my french alot here, and relearn some colloquial terms.
Got home and was talking to Visa till 330am...ugh...
Ok, my time is up. The sun just came out. I'm walking to Sacre Coeur.
B
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Paris, je t'aime... (seriously, what else would I call this post?)
Oh la la!... That's not made up by the way, french people do say that quite often...
So we pulled into Gare du Nord last friday night; for anyone that's been to Paris, you've probably passed through there. It's quite the way to be introduced to the city. Huge windowed ceilings and people everywhere. The cliche continued; people full on making out on the platform as they greeted each other, beautiful, fashionable women talking a mile a minute on their phones...step outside and the night was unseasonably warm. Neon lights, taxis, Vespas darting by. Ya, I got a bit choked up. Shutup. Whatever. Laugh it up, fuzzball. I'm not ashamed.
So we went around the side of the building and the taxi lineup was a mile long...we stood in line for a bit but then...cue Grandma: someone spotted her with the cane and we got bumped to the front of the line...life's little perks :) Our taxi driver was cool and chatty, unlike some cabbies in Paris. It was so warm out, I had the window down all the way and we were whisked to our hotel. Paris by night is pretty damn beautiful.
We stayed at Hotel Madison, a swank 3-star on Boulevard St. Germain. Newly renovated, pretty slick and modern with some classical styles. Our room had friggin LED stars on the ceiling. And the shower had like this rainbow light show button, so you can spice up your honeymoon shower sex, I guess? Oh yeah, nothing says romantic like starry ceilings, rainbow showers and...seperate beds? I'm not sure if we had a mormon honeymoon suite or something...other than that it was actually really nice.
It was like 1030 on a friday, we needed to eat. Went down Rue de Buci, and it's full of swanky bars crammed full of SUPERMODELS. I swear to God this is like an epicentre of the top 2% of mutants; I'm beginning to acknowledge the cliche is just reality. But not just that, the energy in that place is buzzing...you can feel it move through you as you pass. Just a vibrancy that exists everywhere. You gotta look pretty hard for that in Vancouver, I'll tell you h-what...
We found this restaurant that specialized in a special kind of Iberian ham that came from wild pigs from a specific area that were only fed one kind of food. Okayyyyy....delicious. Parmesan Risotto with ham on top...giddyup.
I think once big difference I've noticed is that pretty much every 3rd table at a cafe or restaurant is speaking English...Canadian, American, British, Australian...it was common enough 7 years ago but not now. There were some Canadians behind us at the restaurant; maybe in the past I would turn and say hi...but I could care less really...I didn't come here to meet Canadians! Although that seems to be happening anyways :P
After only a couple hours in town, I couldn't just go to bed. I went for a long walk to find some water for my Grandma and I...once again with a huge grin on my face the whole time...
Alright, too much time on the computer, not enough in the city. I'm out.
B-Dizzle.
So we pulled into Gare du Nord last friday night; for anyone that's been to Paris, you've probably passed through there. It's quite the way to be introduced to the city. Huge windowed ceilings and people everywhere. The cliche continued; people full on making out on the platform as they greeted each other, beautiful, fashionable women talking a mile a minute on their phones...step outside and the night was unseasonably warm. Neon lights, taxis, Vespas darting by. Ya, I got a bit choked up. Shutup. Whatever. Laugh it up, fuzzball. I'm not ashamed.
So we went around the side of the building and the taxi lineup was a mile long...we stood in line for a bit but then...cue Grandma: someone spotted her with the cane and we got bumped to the front of the line...life's little perks :) Our taxi driver was cool and chatty, unlike some cabbies in Paris. It was so warm out, I had the window down all the way and we were whisked to our hotel. Paris by night is pretty damn beautiful.
We stayed at Hotel Madison, a swank 3-star on Boulevard St. Germain. Newly renovated, pretty slick and modern with some classical styles. Our room had friggin LED stars on the ceiling. And the shower had like this rainbow light show button, so you can spice up your honeymoon shower sex, I guess? Oh yeah, nothing says romantic like starry ceilings, rainbow showers and...seperate beds? I'm not sure if we had a mormon honeymoon suite or something...other than that it was actually really nice.
It was like 1030 on a friday, we needed to eat. Went down Rue de Buci, and it's full of swanky bars crammed full of SUPERMODELS. I swear to God this is like an epicentre of the top 2% of mutants; I'm beginning to acknowledge the cliche is just reality. But not just that, the energy in that place is buzzing...you can feel it move through you as you pass. Just a vibrancy that exists everywhere. You gotta look pretty hard for that in Vancouver, I'll tell you h-what...
We found this restaurant that specialized in a special kind of Iberian ham that came from wild pigs from a specific area that were only fed one kind of food. Okayyyyy....delicious. Parmesan Risotto with ham on top...giddyup.
I think once big difference I've noticed is that pretty much every 3rd table at a cafe or restaurant is speaking English...Canadian, American, British, Australian...it was common enough 7 years ago but not now. There were some Canadians behind us at the restaurant; maybe in the past I would turn and say hi...but I could care less really...I didn't come here to meet Canadians! Although that seems to be happening anyways :P
After only a couple hours in town, I couldn't just go to bed. I went for a long walk to find some water for my Grandma and I...once again with a huge grin on my face the whole time...
Alright, too much time on the computer, not enough in the city. I'm out.
B-Dizzle.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Where poppies grow... Part 3
Ok. So my last post was October 6th, a week ago. I'm trying to decide if I would post more often if I had easier access to a computer. I've been lucky so far, but I've moved on to hostels now and it's pretty damn expensive to sit on the computer.
The other important reason is that, well, I've been out enjoying myself! When I've gotten to the end of the day, I can choose sleep or blog...and well sleep wins. But now that I'm in Paris for a few days I thought I would take a moment and try to sum up this past week...might take a few posts but...
Let's go back a bit. We ended up in Ypres, or Ieper as it's spelled in Dutch. Basically it was a 13th century medieval town that was the centre of that area of battle in WW1. I saw some photos of the city just after the war...it was COMPLETELY LEVELED to rubble by shellings. So the town appears old still as they rebuilt it, but the buildings are no older than 90 years at this point. Very cool and picturesque. We did a tour of the Flanders Museum which was partially interactive, and was a good overview of everything that happened. We stayed at the town's 4-star hotel which had tons of photos and uniforms in the lobby. Nice place; though before I go on, there doesn't seem to be any consistency in the pricing of wireless, sometimes it's free...at this hotel they wanted 20 euros for 24 hours...anyways, annoying but whatever. So I wrote my last blog from a free computer there which was nice.
The next day we did a van tour of Flanders. Freakin awesome. Our guide was "Jacques", this really nice and charismatic Dutch guy from a small town nearby. I learned that in Belgium they speak Dutch and French, but the dialect Flemish is spoken only, and varies greatly from east to west...so much so, that Jacques' hometown Poperinge was 7 km from Ieper, and he could tell an accent from someone from Ieper. Ridiculous. In Canada, I can often tell if someone is from Ontario by their accent, but most Canadians never notice. Need an example? Watch "Canada's Worst Driver"; the host has a BRUTAL Ontario accent "Julie was havin' trouble PAIRKIN her CAIR OOTSYDE of the BAIR. She's finding it very HAIRD." You have to hear it to know what I mean. My Grandma has an accent to me but she's also of a different generation and uses certain Britishisms...so it doesn't really count...
So, Jacques knew his shit. Unfortunately I didn't bring the letters on the tour, which I regret, because Jacques was very interested in anything war related and had tons of respect for Canada. He spoke of the position "runner", who like a signalman is not meant to last long. I'll talk a bit more about that later at Vimy. But he also confirmed the story of the crucifixion, in fact that man's name was on the Menin Gate wall, the memorial in Ieper with fallen soldier's names. Went to Essex Farms Cemetery where John McCrae wrote the famous "In Flanders Fields" In fact, he didn't like it at first, threw it away and it was found by an officer and published without his consent. We saw the bunkers where McCrae, a doctor, dressed wounded men. Men would come in and they were in rough shape, they wrote an 'M' on the forehead, for Morphine...=doomed. He also said snipers weren't recognized officially till 1916; until then they would say "death by stray bullets". Really interesting concept to me; the idea that someone so far away could be targeting you out of the mess to kill you. Which is cool to relate to Walt's stories. But as we know, Germans are famous for quality lenses, combined with the fact that shooting for sport has always been popular, so they pulled in all the sport guns and fitted them with scopes for the first time...Allies didn't do this for 2 years. No training given nor acknowledgment of position as sniper. 59% of casualties in WW1 were caused by shrapnel from shells. Hmm.
You can't drive 5 mins in this area without seeing a cemetery. I learned it's a Jewish tradition to put a stone on the gravestone out of respect. Interesting. Many different tombstones, Jews got a star of david (WW1 remember), and the military or Victoria crosses were engraved on those who received them. We then saw Langemarck, the only German cemetery in the area. Contrasting greatly, it's very dark and sombre. There was a large crypt with 25000 bodies buried, and stones with their names. Hitler visited this cemetery at the start of WW2. We then saw St. Juliaan Memorial, a huge stone pillar with a Canadian soldier on top, gun facing down. Very impressive, wait for the pics. The area is called Vancouver Corner actually. I passed thru the fields of Passchendaele as well...all farmland now, but weird to think of the mess of rotting corpses and shrapnel it once was. Farmers dig up old shells and metal bits on a daily basis. Sometimes gas shells, which are still very poisonous.
Went to Tyne Cot Cemetery, the largest in the area. Huge. Funny story, Hitler actually saved the Tyne Cot from destruction during WW2, out of respect for the dead. Because the cemetery was in simple memorial, and in no way patriotic, he left it alone. Of course if there were big statues of Allied soldiers etc...it would be gone. So he was a great guy after all! Well ok maybe not...relax, it's not too soon for a joke, it's been 70 years...
We then went to Hill 62, also known as Santuary Wood, where there was still a raw trench you could go in...crazy...there was a British school trip there, not a bad field trip to go on! Really amazing though, lots of old shells and rusty metal shit dug up from the area...it was a cool setting, in the trees of a small forest was a series of zig zagging trenches. I got home and had to rinse the mud off my jeans...but I didn't feel a real reason to complain, somehow...
Moving on to Vimy. Had a great little breakfast in Ieper, home cooked at the hostel. Got yelled at by a cop for driving and taking pics at the same time...a challenge with a manual tranny... :) Hard to read the signage to Vimy but we made it. The memorial is AMAZING. 2 HUGE towers. There are unexploded fields everywhere, craters from shell holes with live ammo. So funny, they put sheep in the field to mow the lawn by eating it, cuz they can't set off the bombs... We went to the trench and tunnel tour. The tour guide, a kid from Ontario was actually really knowledgeable. Thick accent though :P The area was an intricate series of tunnels, the rock was chalk so it dug easily. The soldiers didn't dig, they were labourers who specialized in digging. They would put spikes on their heels and dig in and twist. This kept noise to a minimum too as both sides were listening for digging. They would also set explosives to collapse enemy tunnels...but this was dangerous cuz it could merge both tunnels. Runners worked here. They would live 6 days on average. But there were bonuses: you could sleep underground with the officers, and you could climb ranks quickly. They were well respected. They would have a white armband so that they had priority in the tunnels and people got out of the way when delivering messages. But they were easy to spot and therefore kill too.
Canada took Vimy Ridge in one day, after all other Allied divisions failed. With months of planning of shelling then quick advancement, they succeeded in taking the important ridge. Vimy Park now belongs to Canada and is maintained by the Canadian Govt. It was cool though, a nice French man who was the security guard for the memorial took Grandma around in his car to check out different views of the massive thing. It commemorates the 66,000 Canadians who died in the war.
We had to book it back to Brussels to return the car...didn't take as long as we thought though. Just barely caught the 7:37 pm train that was running late...
I've kept the letters from my Great Grandad...haven't had time to go through them, but if I get a chance before I come home I will talk more about them, if not I'll go over them at home.
Pulled into Paris last friday for the first time in over 7 years....if you could have seen the smile on my face...
Stay tuned...
I remain ever your affectionate friend,
Brendan
The other important reason is that, well, I've been out enjoying myself! When I've gotten to the end of the day, I can choose sleep or blog...and well sleep wins. But now that I'm in Paris for a few days I thought I would take a moment and try to sum up this past week...might take a few posts but...
Let's go back a bit. We ended up in Ypres, or Ieper as it's spelled in Dutch. Basically it was a 13th century medieval town that was the centre of that area of battle in WW1. I saw some photos of the city just after the war...it was COMPLETELY LEVELED to rubble by shellings. So the town appears old still as they rebuilt it, but the buildings are no older than 90 years at this point. Very cool and picturesque. We did a tour of the Flanders Museum which was partially interactive, and was a good overview of everything that happened. We stayed at the town's 4-star hotel which had tons of photos and uniforms in the lobby. Nice place; though before I go on, there doesn't seem to be any consistency in the pricing of wireless, sometimes it's free...at this hotel they wanted 20 euros for 24 hours...anyways, annoying but whatever. So I wrote my last blog from a free computer there which was nice.
The next day we did a van tour of Flanders. Freakin awesome. Our guide was "Jacques", this really nice and charismatic Dutch guy from a small town nearby. I learned that in Belgium they speak Dutch and French, but the dialect Flemish is spoken only, and varies greatly from east to west...so much so, that Jacques' hometown Poperinge was 7 km from Ieper, and he could tell an accent from someone from Ieper. Ridiculous. In Canada, I can often tell if someone is from Ontario by their accent, but most Canadians never notice. Need an example? Watch "Canada's Worst Driver"; the host has a BRUTAL Ontario accent "Julie was havin' trouble PAIRKIN her CAIR OOTSYDE of the BAIR. She's finding it very HAIRD." You have to hear it to know what I mean. My Grandma has an accent to me but she's also of a different generation and uses certain Britishisms...so it doesn't really count...
So, Jacques knew his shit. Unfortunately I didn't bring the letters on the tour, which I regret, because Jacques was very interested in anything war related and had tons of respect for Canada. He spoke of the position "runner", who like a signalman is not meant to last long. I'll talk a bit more about that later at Vimy. But he also confirmed the story of the crucifixion, in fact that man's name was on the Menin Gate wall, the memorial in Ieper with fallen soldier's names. Went to Essex Farms Cemetery where John McCrae wrote the famous "In Flanders Fields" In fact, he didn't like it at first, threw it away and it was found by an officer and published without his consent. We saw the bunkers where McCrae, a doctor, dressed wounded men. Men would come in and they were in rough shape, they wrote an 'M' on the forehead, for Morphine...=doomed. He also said snipers weren't recognized officially till 1916; until then they would say "death by stray bullets". Really interesting concept to me; the idea that someone so far away could be targeting you out of the mess to kill you. Which is cool to relate to Walt's stories. But as we know, Germans are famous for quality lenses, combined with the fact that shooting for sport has always been popular, so they pulled in all the sport guns and fitted them with scopes for the first time...Allies didn't do this for 2 years. No training given nor acknowledgment of position as sniper. 59% of casualties in WW1 were caused by shrapnel from shells. Hmm.
You can't drive 5 mins in this area without seeing a cemetery. I learned it's a Jewish tradition to put a stone on the gravestone out of respect. Interesting. Many different tombstones, Jews got a star of david (WW1 remember), and the military or Victoria crosses were engraved on those who received them. We then saw Langemarck, the only German cemetery in the area. Contrasting greatly, it's very dark and sombre. There was a large crypt with 25000 bodies buried, and stones with their names. Hitler visited this cemetery at the start of WW2. We then saw St. Juliaan Memorial, a huge stone pillar with a Canadian soldier on top, gun facing down. Very impressive, wait for the pics. The area is called Vancouver Corner actually. I passed thru the fields of Passchendaele as well...all farmland now, but weird to think of the mess of rotting corpses and shrapnel it once was. Farmers dig up old shells and metal bits on a daily basis. Sometimes gas shells, which are still very poisonous.
Went to Tyne Cot Cemetery, the largest in the area. Huge. Funny story, Hitler actually saved the Tyne Cot from destruction during WW2, out of respect for the dead. Because the cemetery was in simple memorial, and in no way patriotic, he left it alone. Of course if there were big statues of Allied soldiers etc...it would be gone. So he was a great guy after all! Well ok maybe not...relax, it's not too soon for a joke, it's been 70 years...
We then went to Hill 62, also known as Santuary Wood, where there was still a raw trench you could go in...crazy...there was a British school trip there, not a bad field trip to go on! Really amazing though, lots of old shells and rusty metal shit dug up from the area...it was a cool setting, in the trees of a small forest was a series of zig zagging trenches. I got home and had to rinse the mud off my jeans...but I didn't feel a real reason to complain, somehow...
Moving on to Vimy. Had a great little breakfast in Ieper, home cooked at the hostel. Got yelled at by a cop for driving and taking pics at the same time...a challenge with a manual tranny... :) Hard to read the signage to Vimy but we made it. The memorial is AMAZING. 2 HUGE towers. There are unexploded fields everywhere, craters from shell holes with live ammo. So funny, they put sheep in the field to mow the lawn by eating it, cuz they can't set off the bombs... We went to the trench and tunnel tour. The tour guide, a kid from Ontario was actually really knowledgeable. Thick accent though :P The area was an intricate series of tunnels, the rock was chalk so it dug easily. The soldiers didn't dig, they were labourers who specialized in digging. They would put spikes on their heels and dig in and twist. This kept noise to a minimum too as both sides were listening for digging. They would also set explosives to collapse enemy tunnels...but this was dangerous cuz it could merge both tunnels. Runners worked here. They would live 6 days on average. But there were bonuses: you could sleep underground with the officers, and you could climb ranks quickly. They were well respected. They would have a white armband so that they had priority in the tunnels and people got out of the way when delivering messages. But they were easy to spot and therefore kill too.
Canada took Vimy Ridge in one day, after all other Allied divisions failed. With months of planning of shelling then quick advancement, they succeeded in taking the important ridge. Vimy Park now belongs to Canada and is maintained by the Canadian Govt. It was cool though, a nice French man who was the security guard for the memorial took Grandma around in his car to check out different views of the massive thing. It commemorates the 66,000 Canadians who died in the war.
We had to book it back to Brussels to return the car...didn't take as long as we thought though. Just barely caught the 7:37 pm train that was running late...
I've kept the letters from my Great Grandad...haven't had time to go through them, but if I get a chance before I come home I will talk more about them, if not I'll go over them at home.
Pulled into Paris last friday for the first time in over 7 years....if you could have seen the smile on my face...
Stay tuned...
I remain ever your affectionate friend,
Brendan
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Where poppies grow... Part 2
We went thru the Flanders Fields Museum in Ypres today; very interesting and what a beautiful city. I learned a ton about my great grandfather last night reading his old, unpublished letters. I wanna say a bit about him.
Funny thing is, his dad, my great great granddad lied about his age and enlisted in 1917...but wasn't close to his son...still don't know why he did this...
Walter Thomas Sandford moved with his father to Canada in 1913 from England. He was 18 when he joined the war the following year in the Canadian Forces. Get this: he was a Signalman for the whole war, and began in the 1st division, 2nd battallion. So not only was he among the first Canadians to see a battlefield, but his job was to crawl to the front of the line with a spool of wire on his back, and crawl back, so that the front lines could communicate with headquarters. He was basically open prey for snipers. And he did this THE WHOLE WAR, eventally being promoted to Sargeant. 5 years. Body and mind intact. There's basically no good reason why he didn't get killed. Ypres, Mons, and the famous Passchendaele. Mud, disease and death everywhere.
I think it's cute my Grandma still calls him "Pop" when she talks about him. We deciphered some letters last night. It's also important to remember this; being a signalman, he would send green envelopes back to HQ and write on the back of these forms. Being in a trusted position, they never read them nor did anyone censor them. The following accounts have not yet been published as my other family still owns the copyrights, but were written by Walter's hand.
5 days and 73 years before my birthday, he wrote of these accounts: (excerpts)
May 6, 1915, Ypres
"I was out mending wires the whole morning...a sniper watched for me to go along the wire...an officer and 14 men died in one spot. I don't know why he didn't get me...bullets worried me more than the shrapnel...I was about a mile from where the miserable swine were using it (gas) and I had a bad mouthful...it smells like petrol and is like a yellow fog...I hope the French will soon start using their stuff...200 of our fellows died here yesterday from its effects...we had very little sleep for the 16 miles...we marched 16 miles in the middle of the night because of aeroplanes. We only lost one, he was probably killed as he retired...we have proof the germans bayonetted the wounded as we were forced to leave them. You see that's what made our casualties so great...they even crucified one of our men on a barn door, stuck 2 bayonets in each hand...it wasn't a fight, it was murder."
He referred to a "coalbox", which you won't read of often; the germans would fill a vat with hot coals and catapault it over the line...
"Like a man possessed with the devil I ate less than a half loaf of bread and some sour milk in 36 hours. You can imagine the condition of the rest."
"We had a rotten time in the trenches, the walls of the dugout fell..."
What I found reading these letters was that he always tried to sound somewhat upbeat, optimistic and polite at the end. I guess when your only communication home is through muddy letters, you want to give good news.
At one point in the letters he mentions "I hope Grandpa is doing well..." He's referring to my Great-Great-Great-Grandfather! I'm freakin out!!!
I found the end of this letter to be utmost poetic and chilling, especially with no punctuation at the end. Written still sometime in 1915:
"Roll on the end of "la guerre" and let me get out of the rain. No such luck I guess well goodbye for a while.
I remain ever your affectionate nephew, Walt."
Walter would survive the First World War, receive the Mons Star and the Military Cross (which he threw in the ocean in protest), and enlisted in the Second World War in 1940 in the Navy and instructed young sailors; seems like there was conflict about the war, and then he went back. He even lied about his age to get in like his dad, because the Army would make him Major and put him in charge of POW camp...BOOORING...I guess he wanted a more fun job?
Still some things to be answered and details to fill in; going on a tour tomorrow of Fields and cemeteries.
More info to come. Thanks for reading.
I remain ever your affectionate friend, Brendan.
Funny thing is, his dad, my great great granddad lied about his age and enlisted in 1917...but wasn't close to his son...still don't know why he did this...
Walter Thomas Sandford moved with his father to Canada in 1913 from England. He was 18 when he joined the war the following year in the Canadian Forces. Get this: he was a Signalman for the whole war, and began in the 1st division, 2nd battallion. So not only was he among the first Canadians to see a battlefield, but his job was to crawl to the front of the line with a spool of wire on his back, and crawl back, so that the front lines could communicate with headquarters. He was basically open prey for snipers. And he did this THE WHOLE WAR, eventally being promoted to Sargeant. 5 years. Body and mind intact. There's basically no good reason why he didn't get killed. Ypres, Mons, and the famous Passchendaele. Mud, disease and death everywhere.
I think it's cute my Grandma still calls him "Pop" when she talks about him. We deciphered some letters last night. It's also important to remember this; being a signalman, he would send green envelopes back to HQ and write on the back of these forms. Being in a trusted position, they never read them nor did anyone censor them. The following accounts have not yet been published as my other family still owns the copyrights, but were written by Walter's hand.
5 days and 73 years before my birthday, he wrote of these accounts: (excerpts)
May 6, 1915, Ypres
"I was out mending wires the whole morning...a sniper watched for me to go along the wire...an officer and 14 men died in one spot. I don't know why he didn't get me...bullets worried me more than the shrapnel...I was about a mile from where the miserable swine were using it (gas) and I had a bad mouthful...it smells like petrol and is like a yellow fog...I hope the French will soon start using their stuff...200 of our fellows died here yesterday from its effects...we had very little sleep for the 16 miles...we marched 16 miles in the middle of the night because of aeroplanes. We only lost one, he was probably killed as he retired...we have proof the germans bayonetted the wounded as we were forced to leave them. You see that's what made our casualties so great...they even crucified one of our men on a barn door, stuck 2 bayonets in each hand...it wasn't a fight, it was murder."
He referred to a "coalbox", which you won't read of often; the germans would fill a vat with hot coals and catapault it over the line...
"Like a man possessed with the devil I ate less than a half loaf of bread and some sour milk in 36 hours. You can imagine the condition of the rest."
"We had a rotten time in the trenches, the walls of the dugout fell..."
What I found reading these letters was that he always tried to sound somewhat upbeat, optimistic and polite at the end. I guess when your only communication home is through muddy letters, you want to give good news.
At one point in the letters he mentions "I hope Grandpa is doing well..." He's referring to my Great-Great-Great-Grandfather! I'm freakin out!!!
I found the end of this letter to be utmost poetic and chilling, especially with no punctuation at the end. Written still sometime in 1915:
"Roll on the end of "la guerre" and let me get out of the rain. No such luck I guess well goodbye for a while.
I remain ever your affectionate nephew, Walt."
Walter would survive the First World War, receive the Mons Star and the Military Cross (which he threw in the ocean in protest), and enlisted in the Second World War in 1940 in the Navy and instructed young sailors; seems like there was conflict about the war, and then he went back. He even lied about his age to get in like his dad, because the Army would make him Major and put him in charge of POW camp...BOOORING...I guess he wanted a more fun job?
Still some things to be answered and details to fill in; going on a tour tomorrow of Fields and cemeteries.
More info to come. Thanks for reading.
I remain ever your affectionate friend, Brendan.
Where poppies grow... Part 1
Ok. Well, tons has happened. I got my bag, yes. All is good. I'm glad I have it, but still kinda wish I didn't. Whatever, not thinking about that. So yesterday I set out on foot to get the car. Wandered thru Brussels Square again; found Manneken Pis, the famous statue of the little boy pissing. What's will all this blogging about urination; it seems to be a theme...ok anyways, I grabbed a chocolate covered waffle nearby. Ya that's all...chocolate Belgian waffle...nbd.
Continued on to find the car rental place; wasn't there. Ducked into a travel agency and they told me it moved to the train station. Walked another 15 mins. Took a little 360 video at a random intersection; I just had a big moment of realization of where I was...so different, so cool. I also realized how beautiful the people are here. "Average" young people, especially women, are gorgeous; stylish and classy model types just strolling down the street everywhere, often just with other women. It's nice to not be surrounded by boring, smelly hipsters for once. YA, THAT'S YOU, VANCOUVER. But I digress.
Finally got the car and found my way out of the station. God I miss how they drive here; with purpose, with attentiveness, and with RESPECT. I felt comfortable right away on the road...although there were still a few hairy moments with people sneaking up on the right all the time.
So I was trying to find my way back to the hotel, and I turned too soon, couldn't get through the town centre so I had to double back to the main road. Then I had my own Pulp Fiction moment; POV of Butch when he sees Marsellus Wallace cross the street in front of the car. Some guy caught my eye and my mind instantly said "wow that looks like a long-haired Chris", a friend from Vancouver! Thankfully I didn't run him over like in the movie...instead I yelled and honked my horn "CHRIS!"..."BRENDAN? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE??" He reached in and gave me a hug; unfortunately I was holding up alot of traffic, but I gave him my number to meet for a drink later...turns out I was too far to go back to Brussels at the end of the day, but I might meet him in Berlin when I get there in a few weeks. What a random, awesome occurrence.
So, I grabbed my grandma moved on towards Mons. The signage here is tough to read, but we've managed to get around. We get to Mons; I learned that, like Ypres, essentially the whole town was levelled in the Great War, then rebuilt. Crazy to think when you see my pics (tease...I know sorry shuddup). No hotel rooms available there. We get referred to go back to La Louviere, a smaller town nearby. Get lost a bit, start heading in the wrong direction on the highway. A pit stop, a coffee and a box of grapes later we find the little town...same story at first. Meet a very kind hotel clerk who calls ahead to another nearby hotel. We end up with our own little "appart-hotel" room. Very newly renovated. We went out to dinner closeby. Very strange though, there is construction EVERYWHERE in town and it seems deserted. It's like they're still rebuilding from the war. Odd.
What I'm discovering is especially in smaller towns, I'm given far more respect when I speak French and don't assume they speak English. It's come back pretty well to me now, and I swear I'm treated differently. The waiter at the restaurant gave us great service when I ordered promptly. Back at the hotel in the morning, the woman tending to our breakfast in the lobby under construction, who was Italian-born Belgian, was very polite and talkative to my Grandmother and I. She had great respect for the elderly as she expressed her generation there does, but she was curious about where we were from adn what we were doing etc. My Grandma doesn't speak french but understands it when heard.
Speaking of her, it's been fun and interesting with her. My Grandmother is a very smart and educated woman. I learned that at a very late age, from 69-74, she received her BA, MBA, and Masters of Library Services, and went on to be Head Librarian at the University of Toronto. She is very persistent, and although she's slow to move, she only asks for help out of necessity and NEVER out of pity...and I've learned her tenacity is genetic. More on that later.
She also has some funny quirks; she will talk in great detail about anything, for along time unless you help her change gears. I've learned that if she is going to ramble, I'll get her to ramble about something that is of great interest to me, and there is much she says that is. But there will always be the self-narrations of whether or not she will put her feet up...no actually she's gonna take her socks off...and this gown she's had for 20 years is made of a really thin wool that folds up easily...and she needs her bottle of water cuz it's time to take her pills...though that one bottle looks just like the other so she must be careful...where are her glasses, let's check the label...
To be honest things could be much worse of for being 83 she's in great health and spirits, and I've enjoyed caring for her. We sat in the hotel room last night and read my Great-Grandfather's letters written home to his uncle, containing uncensored comments about the war...
Continued on to find the car rental place; wasn't there. Ducked into a travel agency and they told me it moved to the train station. Walked another 15 mins. Took a little 360 video at a random intersection; I just had a big moment of realization of where I was...so different, so cool. I also realized how beautiful the people are here. "Average" young people, especially women, are gorgeous; stylish and classy model types just strolling down the street everywhere, often just with other women. It's nice to not be surrounded by boring, smelly hipsters for once. YA, THAT'S YOU, VANCOUVER. But I digress.
Finally got the car and found my way out of the station. God I miss how they drive here; with purpose, with attentiveness, and with RESPECT. I felt comfortable right away on the road...although there were still a few hairy moments with people sneaking up on the right all the time.
So I was trying to find my way back to the hotel, and I turned too soon, couldn't get through the town centre so I had to double back to the main road. Then I had my own Pulp Fiction moment; POV of Butch when he sees Marsellus Wallace cross the street in front of the car. Some guy caught my eye and my mind instantly said "wow that looks like a long-haired Chris", a friend from Vancouver! Thankfully I didn't run him over like in the movie...instead I yelled and honked my horn "CHRIS!"..."BRENDAN? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE??" He reached in and gave me a hug; unfortunately I was holding up alot of traffic, but I gave him my number to meet for a drink later...turns out I was too far to go back to Brussels at the end of the day, but I might meet him in Berlin when I get there in a few weeks. What a random, awesome occurrence.
So, I grabbed my grandma moved on towards Mons. The signage here is tough to read, but we've managed to get around. We get to Mons; I learned that, like Ypres, essentially the whole town was levelled in the Great War, then rebuilt. Crazy to think when you see my pics (tease...I know sorry shuddup). No hotel rooms available there. We get referred to go back to La Louviere, a smaller town nearby. Get lost a bit, start heading in the wrong direction on the highway. A pit stop, a coffee and a box of grapes later we find the little town...same story at first. Meet a very kind hotel clerk who calls ahead to another nearby hotel. We end up with our own little "appart-hotel" room. Very newly renovated. We went out to dinner closeby. Very strange though, there is construction EVERYWHERE in town and it seems deserted. It's like they're still rebuilding from the war. Odd.
What I'm discovering is especially in smaller towns, I'm given far more respect when I speak French and don't assume they speak English. It's come back pretty well to me now, and I swear I'm treated differently. The waiter at the restaurant gave us great service when I ordered promptly. Back at the hotel in the morning, the woman tending to our breakfast in the lobby under construction, who was Italian-born Belgian, was very polite and talkative to my Grandmother and I. She had great respect for the elderly as she expressed her generation there does, but she was curious about where we were from adn what we were doing etc. My Grandma doesn't speak french but understands it when heard.
Speaking of her, it's been fun and interesting with her. My Grandmother is a very smart and educated woman. I learned that at a very late age, from 69-74, she received her BA, MBA, and Masters of Library Services, and went on to be Head Librarian at the University of Toronto. She is very persistent, and although she's slow to move, she only asks for help out of necessity and NEVER out of pity...and I've learned her tenacity is genetic. More on that later.
She also has some funny quirks; she will talk in great detail about anything, for along time unless you help her change gears. I've learned that if she is going to ramble, I'll get her to ramble about something that is of great interest to me, and there is much she says that is. But there will always be the self-narrations of whether or not she will put her feet up...no actually she's gonna take her socks off...and this gown she's had for 20 years is made of a really thin wool that folds up easily...and she needs her bottle of water cuz it's time to take her pills...though that one bottle looks just like the other so she must be careful...where are her glasses, let's check the label...
To be honest things could be much worse of for being 83 she's in great health and spirits, and I've enjoyed caring for her. We sat in the hotel room last night and read my Great-Grandfather's letters written home to his uncle, containing uncensored comments about the war...
Monday, October 4, 2010
Belgian chocolate = tasty
Well here I am in my hotel room in Brussels...full of delcious food, but without any clothes to change into. That's correct, air Canada did not transfer my luggage. I'm waiting by the phone for the call to tell me it's in the lobby. But I have to say, when I found out it was lost, there was a part of me that kinda wished that it wasn't found...that I truly have to start all over. Kinda exciting, in a really inconvenient way...well we'll see if that actually happens...
Otherwise, my 22 hour journey from kelowna to Brussels, has been fun. Met my grandma and grandpa in toronto, and she's been enjoying herself so far, albeit she's understandably exhausted. I just ate an amazing chicken dinner in Brussels square with some Kriek cherry beer...god I forgot how amazing Belgian beer is. Seriously, Canada has no idea about beer. Then during dinner some random street cat came up to one of the tables, then went over to a bundled up awning on the ground, climbed on top, then proceeded to take the longest, wildest, most powerful piss I've ever witnessed on the thing. My options were a) shoo it away b) watch and do nothing and c) take a video of the cat pissing. If you're thinking "please tell me u took a video"...the answer is yes. One of hopefully many videos to upload when I get back. I then popped into one of the many Belgian chocolate shops...icant help but think of when homer Simpson visits the land of chocolate when i walk into one.
I need to mention that my whole trip began with a trip to kelowna for my friends Nathan and Nicoles wedding, which I was given the job to MC. It was a tall order but I had a hell of a time, I wrote a few jokes an stories, and the evening went off without a hitch. In fact the weather was so perfect that they got some of the most amazing wedding photos ever.
And then there was the afterparty in me and Charlies room. Awesome. And I didn't get any sleep that night, so Im gonna go do that now. Typed this all on my iPhone, I think I'll wait for a real computer for the next post. Leaving for Mons tomorrow by car and some battlefields. AWESOME.
Otherwise, my 22 hour journey from kelowna to Brussels, has been fun. Met my grandma and grandpa in toronto, and she's been enjoying herself so far, albeit she's understandably exhausted. I just ate an amazing chicken dinner in Brussels square with some Kriek cherry beer...god I forgot how amazing Belgian beer is. Seriously, Canada has no idea about beer. Then during dinner some random street cat came up to one of the tables, then went over to a bundled up awning on the ground, climbed on top, then proceeded to take the longest, wildest, most powerful piss I've ever witnessed on the thing. My options were a) shoo it away b) watch and do nothing and c) take a video of the cat pissing. If you're thinking "please tell me u took a video"...the answer is yes. One of hopefully many videos to upload when I get back. I then popped into one of the many Belgian chocolate shops...icant help but think of when homer Simpson visits the land of chocolate when i walk into one.
I need to mention that my whole trip began with a trip to kelowna for my friends Nathan and Nicoles wedding, which I was given the job to MC. It was a tall order but I had a hell of a time, I wrote a few jokes an stories, and the evening went off without a hitch. In fact the weather was so perfect that they got some of the most amazing wedding photos ever.
And then there was the afterparty in me and Charlies room. Awesome. And I didn't get any sleep that night, so Im gonna go do that now. Typed this all on my iPhone, I think I'll wait for a real computer for the next post. Leaving for Mons tomorrow by car and some battlefields. AWESOME.
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