"Grillen"

That's Germany for "crickets" - aka the sound of silence on this here space.

Oh well.

Here's some pictures from Berlin.

Berlin 1st 24 hours

Best,
Alain

Another week, another post!

Nothing as exciting as a race-track this week.

Monday: School work
Tuesday: School work
Wednesday: School work
Thursday: Lunch date followed by school work
Friday: School work followed by a hilarious evening at a real-live club! Guest list made the entire thing rather like a safari expedition. Seriously, how many times in my life will I get the chance to party under Pont Alexandre III at a bar where a Magnum of Dom Peringon costs 5000 Euro?
Saturday: School work followed by an evening at quite possibly the nicest bar I have ever seen in my life. An American friend was having her birthday and treated everyone their first cocktail and to a glass of champagne. Wowzer. Definitely going back there. First time I've thought a cocktail that costs more than 10 dollars to be justified.
Sunday: School work (finished my essay at last) followed by dinner and movie!

Rinse, lather, repeat.

Steeplechase!

Went to the race-track yesterday!

Bet on the first race and lost. Decided that I would stop wasting my money. Looked at the lineup of the 2nd race and couldn't help myself! Sitting at number 3 was 'Six Des Champs' with 9:1 odds to win. How could I resist my namesake? I plopped down a whoppping 2 Euro bet on him to 'place' (ie: top 3) and went outside in the freezing cold to cheer with my friends.

I took a quick video on the first lap and you can hear my disappointment in my horses performance right at the end!




However! He staged an awesome comeback near the end and ended up in 3rd place and I got paid ~3:1! Won 6.80 for my 2 Euro bet!

An outing

Took my camera with me and was inspired to actually take some photos!

http://picasaweb.google.com/shollos/19thAndButtesChaumont#

Aside from the odd poem I’ve not been too motivated to write lately. Even the poetry has been a little forced. For instance, I was to write a confessional poem for class and struggled quite a bit with it. I was not feeling particularly motivated and even though I spent most of last Sunday night writing, nothing good came of it. So, I woke up Monday morning and ended up writing the following.

Pavlov’s Dog

This confession is forced.
Inadmissible in court!

Forced by the deadline
whose guillotine looms.

I put my pen to paper
and words spring forth.

They are not free like eagles
yet they soar on hot air.

I thought it would be easy
this confession of sin.

Yet long did I struggle
on how to disclose.

That my treasures are many,
my daily misdeeds.

Should I be subtle and witty
or humble, contrite.

Many drafts I did write
yet none did please.

Finally I settled on this,
my effort last minute.

I admit I lacked motivation.
No inspiration came.

Distracted from work I felt
like Pavlov's laboratory dogs.

Whoses mouths would water
but food was not my trigger.

Five new messages would await
and read them I must!

So now I sit here and write
and reluctantly submit.

It is strange and a little sad that my now twice daily commute past the Eiffel tower has begun to feel routine. It is strange that I’ve now been here for over a month and cannot look back on any one single moment as a hall-mark, defining high-water mark. Perhaps it’s because I’ve not taken to documenting my daily life; the lack of pictures and diary allows the days to slip away unremarked. Perhaps it’s because the routine imposed by school acts like a metronome, each week and assignment marks another beat. Perhaps it’s merely the fact that life is routinely banal, no matter how romantic and alluring your surroundings.

In any case, I don’t wish to sound too downbeat. I am merely trying to explain that a month and a half in Paris going to school is not at all like a month and a half of vacation; the demands of daily life do not easily lend themselves to a sense of wonder and exploration. I would be terribly remiss if I let this sentiment pass without an effort to provide balance and perspective in the form of the wonderful things I’ve seen and done.

It’s hard to put a value on the small moments one gets of extreme exhilaration as one spots a particularly beautiful vista, the flashing ray of sunlight which strikes your eye as you bike along the Seine and catches the dome of Des Invalides just so. Or when you’re wandering in a new quartier and you turn a corner and have a perfect view of the Notre Dame hit by flood-lights. Not to mention the jolt of surprise when trying a new route to a friend’s house and realizing your chemin provides you an unobstructed view of Sacre Coeur lit brilliantly in yellow by the setting sun.

Another upside is that my French has improved tremendously. French classes, French cinema, and other exchange students eager to practice all have contributed to a growing ease of speaking and comprehension. Of course, it’s still embarrassing when talking to French people in a bar and asking them to repeat themselves every other sentence because I can’t understand what they’re saying. The language barrier compounds an already existing difficulty; I cannot understand people in my native tongue in a crowded noisy environment, nevermind in French!

This next week should prove to be interesting for me. I’m on vacation for real. No school this week! Due to a serious lack of funds, I am not travelling like almost every other friend that I have met in Paris. So, I plan on playing tourist finally. I want to visit museums (a phrase I thought I would never utter). First however, there is the small matter of the gold medal hockey game. I’m going to watch it at 3 a.m here with a few Canadians I’ve met – and then sleep all day Monday! Woohoo!

The Hunt

The homework from the Poetry workshop this week was a "self-portrait" poem. I figured I'd be a little clever.

The Hunt

i ask your help dear friends
to aid me in my search

its crafty game i seek
whose cunning outwits mine

who no trap can ensnare
nor chase or hunt fatigue

though my quarry escapes
short flashes have i seen

small glimpses of my prey
reflected in your eyes

i call these my collage
a portrait of my toil

imperfect though it be
i hope one day complete

more cunning as I age
with every passing year

my eyes no longer search
directly for my prey

oblique now is their aim
to glimpse my quarrys face

reflected in your eyes
as i pursue my shade.

Triumphe!

From Paris2

P.S - I enabled commenting. I forgot before.

Snow

From Paris

Change

I'm enrolled in a poetry workshop so I figured I may as well share it here, my first poem ever!

"Change"

the stiff sole replaces
a well worn heel.
its new stiffness
mocks old comfort.

thus begins a breaking in.
a familiarization of
soft flesh with
artificial sheath.

soon blisters form
from the struggle
against change.
their result, pain.

our calluses mark relief.
small proofs of victory
in life's endless
struggle.

River to the Right, Eiffel Tower to the left at 20 kilometers an hour

Tonight I rode home on a Velib for the first time. Let's just say that for the first time since my arrival two weeks ago I felt at home and 'in my skin' here. After all the headaches and red-tape of setting up my life I think I can finally say that my life here is now established.

My second class today was 'Living, Thinking, and Staging Revolutions' taught by this man . Again, I continue to be massively impressed with the quality of the teaching staff here. The 'conceit' of the class is that it blends theatre, political philosophy, and history to examine the concept of revolution; which he claims has been the subject of political philosophy over the past two hundred years. Suffice it to say I have instantly fallen in love with this class. If the girls in this class didn't develop an instant crush on him I would be SHOCKED.

After class I got to ride a bike home at night for the first time. What a joy! The streets were fairly deserted as I got out of class at 21h30. Followed the Seine past the Musee D'Orsay, Les Invalides, Pont Alexandre, L'Assemble National, and finally the Eiffel Tower before finally crossing over to the right bank and docking my bike and walking home. Total travel time 25 minutes! Life is definitely calming down now and I couldn't be happier. More classes tomorrow!

Time to kill

Classes began today. Once again the familiar thrill of throwing oneself into the hustle bustle of student life. Once again the familiar routine of hurry up and wait. 5 hour wait between classes makes for an extremely long day. However, it will let me visit all sorts of museums during off-hours if I ever become so inclined. Judging by my enthusiasm level for museums so far, I'm not quite certain this will ever happen!

Anyways. After the disasterous methodology course, I was a little anxious about the instructors here. However, I am happy to say that the first class went well. It's definitely an odd dynamic though. 1/3 of the class were international students and the others were French Sciences Po students. The teacher gamely tried to solicit feedback from the classroom during the lecture but the combination of a language barrier and it being the first class definitely made it harder than normal to get people talking. Being that my lectures are all in English (a subject that I suspect I will lament a few times over the next few months) I expect to see this dynamic occur again a few times. With any luck it will be temporary and class discussions will be lively.

The one nice thing that I'm finding out about the Sciences PO teaching style is that they very much prefer their teachers to have practical experience in the subject areas that they are teaching. For isntance, my morning class on 'Media In Transition' is being taught by one Peter Gumbel , a life-long journalist. My entire time at Concordia I was taught by professors who have mainly known nothing but academia so I'm rather excited to be able to learn from people with decades of experience in subject matters I'm interested in. The fact that I'm extremely interested in almost all of my courses should hopefully mitigate some of the chagrin I feel for enrolling in all English courses in France!

On an unrelated note, I spent the weekend in Lille visiting a friend from Montreal. I apologize once again for the lack of pictures as it is quite the picturesque city. To be quite frank I'm simply not motivated to be taking pictures (nor to write much). It's a bit of a shame as I fear I'll have no concrete reminders of my time here. No matter, life is but a fleeting moment.

Discovering the city sans velo

One of my favourite ways to interact with a city is via bicycle. It’s been three years that I’ve been a year-round cyclist and I find myself at a loss on the tragic occasions at which I find myself without the use of a bicycle. So, one of my primary concerns upon arrival in Paris was getting what I like to call ‘street mobile’. I had thought to bring my bicycle with me from home. At only 30 dollars each way, it was an attractive option price wise yet the logistics of the endeavour dissuaded me. I would have had to spend a good few hours in the bike shop fixing it and upgrading various parts to ensure smooth operation during my stay not to mention somehow navigating the airports at both ends. So, in the end I was left to choose either using the Velib system (a mass bicycle share program on the order of 10,000 bikes distributed around Paris), or finding my own bicycle. Owing to the perverse nature of French bureaucracy described in the previous post, my lack of a French credit card precludes me from Velib so I was left with finding my own bike.
Thanks to some internet research and the helpful hints of some Paris savvy friends I discovered the ‘Marches Aux Puces’. These are basically giant flea markets directly on the outskirts of Paris. My search has taken me to both major ones in Paris and they are indeed an experience that one should not miss while here. Marche Aux Puce Clingancourt was my first stop on Friday. I arrived with the full expectation that there would be lines of bicycles awaiting my inspection. Imagine my disappointment when I realized that the entire place was shuttered tight. No street vendors, and only a select few others open. Turns out that these markets are only open Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Fair enough. My friend and I decided to walk around the 18th while we were in the neighbourhood and passed a nice afternoon discovering Montmartre and sight-seeing at Sacre Coeur. Sorry folks, no pictures (a recurring theme I warn you)!

I woke early Saturday, intent to get a good start on the day. However, seeing rain outside quickly dashed my enthusiasm and I went back to bed. After a few hours I decided to brave the rain anyways and made my way up to Clingancourt again. Once you disembark from the metro you are bombarded by all sorts of vendors selling Dolce & Gabanna and Gucci knockoff perfumes, watches, and purses. I suspect it’s location directly outside the Periphique and the jurisdiction of Paris has something to do with its ability to operate on the fringes of the law. Finally after getting through the throng you find yourself in the maze like market full of vendors selling antique furniture, clothes, and other knick-knacks. My previous outing had yielded knowledge of the location of the one bike shop in the market – what turned out to be a charming little store run by an elderly couple. Their selection left something to be desired and their cheapest bike was 90 Euros. While it was a charming bicycle, perfect for my needs it was far outside my price range. Pressed for time I wandered for another half hour in the maze and wished that I lived here long-term and had many more Euros to my name. The furniture and artwork on display were truly spectacular. One day I’ll buy my own boat, come here and buy beautiful antique furniture and sail it across the Atlantic and sell it in my own boutique in Canada. I’ll become rich!

Turns out that the Clingancourt Puce was the higher end market. My real hopes lay with Montreuil. If Clingancourt had some less than reputable characters Montrueil was downright shady. Recall a Hollywood movie where the heroes walk through a bazaar and see all sorts of characters selling objects of questionable provenience and you have an idea of what Montreuil is like. Shell games and crowded sidewalks crowded with displays of random articles of clothing and electronics spread on blankets crowded with people making their way towards the market itself. Cheap electronic goods, second-hand clothes and shoes make up the bulk of the legitimate vendors. After 20 minutes of making your way through the market you begin to make you way to the real meat of the market. Here, I hoped, lay the fabled 40 Euro bicycles I had heard about. Stopping every now and again we would inquire as to their location and would receive a conspiratorial whisper as they pointed towards the end of the market. Everyone would warn us that they were stolen. It seems that cheapness requires a certain moral ambiguity on the part of the purchaser. Given my precarious situation here, I am choosing to compromise my morals in pursuit of a bargain. I hope that my volunteer work back home has given me a small bank of bike karma to borrow against.

As we got nearer to the end of the market we began to see all sorts of weird things. There were displays of power tools splattered in paint which had been clearly recently liberated from a job-site. There were televisions and assorted electronics, a few scooters and at last – three bicycles! Unfortunately for me, none were my size and they were in relatively poor condition. I suppose I’m too much of a bike snob but the selection really left something to be desired. Thankfully however, we found one for my friend from New Zealand with whom I had come. A few minor adjustments and purchases later her bike was ready to go. Unfortunately, once again I left disappointed. Thankfully however, I was not completely empty handed. We ran into a musician who invited us to come see his band on Wednesday at a tiny bar in the 12th and I am excited. I’ve heard that the Bastille is a very ‘hip’ place and look forwarded to seeing some live music. Besides, there’s always tomorrow! This whole not having a bike thing sure is a good way to discover the city!

The start!

They give you a sugar cube with your coffee here. It comes already split into two halves. Your coffee comes scalding hot in a small demitasse. I made the mistake when I first arrived of asking for an espresso. My waitress quickly corrected me and asked “un café?” Thankfully, I had already read online that if you take your coffee “au bar” it costs half of what it does “en salle”. One of many small things you must learn to successfully acclimate and to avoid everyone thinking “TOURIST” after each interaction. One half your cube leaves you with a slightly bitter, strong tasting coffee which you sip in small slurps. Both halves give you an overly sweet tasting coffee which leaves a sugary after-taste. Personally, my goal is to be taking my coffee black by the time I leave.

It’s been almost a week since I’ve arrived and it’s only in the last day or two that I find life has begun to settle down. My first day here was a nightmare in most senses of the word. Departure from Montreal at 8pm followed by a delayed 8 hour flight into Paris with arrival at 930am. The overnight was hard, as Air Transat is the choice of the unwashed masses due to its rock bottom prices – as a result, it seems to attract an above average number of new families who are likely taking their first vacation since their ‘precious’ was born. Thus, I got to experience a never-ending chorus of newborns serenading the plane with their renditions of ‘This is the Song that Never Ends’.

Arrival was fairly un-eventful, with only a few moments of anxiety as I presented my student visa to the immigration officer – the moment of truth! Safely stamped and luggage in tow, I embarked upon the RER en route to my apartment in the 16th. Joelle, owner of my apartment, had given me very clear directions and upon disembarking at Metro Ranelagh, I found myself staring directly at my building mere steps away. A sight for very sore and tired eyes, I lugged my luggage up five flights of stairs and was introduced to Joelles nephew. He is studying to enter the conservatory and plays piano with a beautiful light touch – it’s quite nice to wake up mornings and hear the piano music floating across the apartment!

The apartment is what Joelle describes as “bourgeois”. It’s build around a long hallway with a series of rooms opening from it. It’s incredibly spacious and well appointed; I’ll take photographs soon. I deposited my bags, showered quickly and hopped back on the metro to make my way to the school. I had received an e-mail that the ‘Welcome Program’ was beginning that morning and I was late!

It was at this point that I had my first café and experienced my first real feeling of being in Paris. It’s the small things that continually strike me. Change is not given to you in your hand. Instead there’s a little plastic saucer dropped on your table or a space reserved for that purpose by the cash register. If you want to do anything official, you must take a rendez-vous. Flying by the seat of your pants is not a very French custom it appears.

In any case, I arrived at the school and found that I had missed the entire days programming in the morning and all that remained was to sign up for various activities organized for the week. In my addled, sleep deprived state, I navigated the basics and soon decided to retreat back to the house to sleep a few hours and recover my lost feelings of humanity.

The next few days found me running around the city trying to establish the basic requirements of a life in France. One must first acquire a student card, for which one needs certain documents before one can create a bank account which is required for a telephone. Life in France requires documents and there is a specific order in which one must proceed. This has been one of the hardest adjustments to make. I have rarely succeeded in accomplishing anything on my first try, as I inevitably happen to be missing one document or unaware that most offices are closed from 12h-14h. It’s been a frustrating acclimatization but I feel the worst is behind me.
The orientation courses have been somewhat disappointing as the methodology teacher has taken it upon himself to spend his time teaching us French vocabulary and culture rather than the specifics of the new methodology in which we will be expected to work. Add to that the fact that he is an insufferable prig who treats students like they are 12 and you have a recipe for me feeling very angry and frustrated at times. I know it’s petty but I don’t appreciate being treated like a child and as a result…I act like a petulant child!

However, that is done with and some of my classes begin next week. I’ve had a few rewarding outings in the last few days and have begun to finally meet some friends. A welcome break from my routine of sleeping in, running official errands, and coming home to sleep early. Right now, I must cut this missive short as I am about to embark on a walking tour of the 13th – the last organized activity proposed by the school and my last chance to meet some people with whom to spend the next few days! A bientot tous!

(p.s. I'll detail some of the more exciting happenings and highlights in another post. I figured I'd get the ball rolling first)