Sadly, that means that this blog is, for now, redundant. Sad face. However, I'm going to be using my Tumblr for non-Paris related musings (and probably a lot of Paris-related musings actually.)
A très bientôt...
Bisous
Wednesday 10 August 2011
Post Paris Blues
As expected, leaving Paris was as bad as I thought. No. Scratch that. It was worse.
Sadly, that means that this blog is, for now, redundant. Sad face. However, I'm going to be using my Tumblr for non-Paris related musings (and probably a lot of Paris-related musings actually.)
A très bientôt...
Bisous
Sadly, that means that this blog is, for now, redundant. Sad face. However, I'm going to be using my Tumblr for non-Paris related musings (and probably a lot of Paris-related musings actually.)
A très bientôt...
Bisous
Friday 29 July 2011
Please Don't Leave
I have two full days left in Paris. Two full days of being a Parisian resident. Two full days to make the most of the city and the people. Two full days to eat my weight in lovely food (which I have been doing). As this reality sets in, so does a feeling of distraught. I don't want to leave. I didn't want to leave when I booked my ticket home, less so when it was a month to go, then two weeks and then a week. And now even less so now that my bedroom is just a room full of suitcases.
Even Paris doesn't want me to leave; check out the weather forcast for the week that I leave:
But seriously, I have never wanted to stay somewhere so much in my life. I even managed to come to terms with leaving my second year student house which still holds some of my best memories. But that was different; then I was actually embarking upon a new exciting adventure. Now I'm going back to Birmingham. Of course I'm excited to be living with two of my friends and I'm looking forward to being in the same country as the others. I know I'll visit Paris again (I'm already looking at flights for October/November) and see the friends I have here, but I won't live here. I'll just be a visitor.
For most people the magic of Paris is climbing the Eiffel Tower, seeing the Mona Lisa and strolling down the Champs Elysées. But for me it's wandering down side streets and coming across quirky shops or restaurants, discovering new hipster bars and just laying in the park near my flat, hoping that the greased-up, tan guy doesn't spot me on my own and come over to make conversation. It's all the amazing food that I can't eat back at home; the unparalleled fresh bread, the crepes and the variety of food from all over the world. It's speaking French. It's being angry at the French system but secretly loving the excuse to complain. It has been living in one of the worst areas Paris has to offer and having the best year of my life.
Who knows, maybe I won't feel this way in a few months time but right now I can't think of anything I want to do less than leave. Is it wrong to secretly hope that Kate and Sally's threats of stealing my passport and shoes are serious?
Even Paris doesn't want me to leave; check out the weather forcast for the week that I leave:
For most people the magic of Paris is climbing the Eiffel Tower, seeing the Mona Lisa and strolling down the Champs Elysées. But for me it's wandering down side streets and coming across quirky shops or restaurants, discovering new hipster bars and just laying in the park near my flat, hoping that the greased-up, tan guy doesn't spot me on my own and come over to make conversation. It's all the amazing food that I can't eat back at home; the unparalleled fresh bread, the crepes and the variety of food from all over the world. It's speaking French. It's being angry at the French system but secretly loving the excuse to complain. It has been living in one of the worst areas Paris has to offer and having the best year of my life.
Who knows, maybe I won't feel this way in a few months time but right now I can't think of anything I want to do less than leave. Is it wrong to secretly hope that Kate and Sally's threats of stealing my passport and shoes are serious?
Wednesday 6 July 2011
Eurockéennes Festival 2011
Imagine my delight when Kate receives an email telling her she can have two free tickets to a music festival. Imagine my rising level of excitement when we check out the line up and it's pretty damn good. Imagine my hysteria when I receive an email asking me to register on the 'press' section of the festival's website. Things just seemed to get better and better after we found train tickets that weren't too extortionate and a friend who's au pair family would lend us a tent and sleeping bags.
Even the small glitch when we arrived at the campsite didn't deter us. We showed up without tickets, thinking there would be a list of press people. Turns out that said list was at the festival site, available from 4pm. It was midday. So, faced with the prospect of lugging all our baggage to the festival site, to wait for three hours to collect our wristband, come all the way back to the campsite to set up the tent and then leave straight away, we explained the situation to two more people and were finally just let in.
Feeling quite pleased with ourselves, the smugness soon wore off when we began to set up the tent. Kate's first impression was: "Oh no...some of the tent is missing." Her second impression: "Oh no, even worse, none of it is missing...this is it!" Then we found the instructions and realised that it wasn't in fact a tent, but a beach shelter. Cue two nights squished together amongst all our luggage, freezing to death as the condensation from the sides seeped in to my very old sleeping bag, as it was impossible to not touch the side.
Beach Shelter
However, the press experience and the music made up for our sleeping woes. We got to skip the queue, go to the press tent and bar, go into the VIP section, eat nice food, and, perhaps the best part, avoid the festival toilets. The bands were excellent, highlights being The Ting Tings, Arctic Monkeys, Queens of the Stone Age, Arcade Fire, jumping around to 'Jump Around' by House of Pain, rocking out with your kebab out (not a euphemism) to Motorhead and raving to Crystal Castles, despite the sound problems.
Press Bar
Festival
In hindsight, had I known that I'd be sleeping in the oldest sleeping bag ever, in a beach shelter, with another person, in what must have been a temperature of 1 or 2 degrees at night, would I do it again? Of course!
Wednesday 29 June 2011
Paris From The Sky
Since I came to Paris in September, I have seen the city from up high more times than is really necessary. So much so, that I have now come to the point where I am reluctant to part with money to see Centre Pompidou, Invalides, Panthéon and Sacré-Coeur from over 200 metres high up yet again. However, for the past couple of weeks this is exactly what I've been doing.
I have seen Paris from Tour Monparnasse, which was impressive but left me a little disappointed, perhaps due to the terrace being closed. From the Sacre-Coeur, which was interesting as you get to see a little more of northern Paris. And attempted to see the view from Paris' hot air balloon in Parc André Citroen; not a successful attempt as apparently the smallest breeze will cause them to stop the balloon rides for about two days which is really rather annoying when you have traveled from the other side of Paris to do this for your friend's last day. Lesson learned: call first.
My favourite view is still the one from Arc de Triomphe, it was high enough to see the important monuments but also not too high to still make out some details. The only disadvantage are the 284 stairs you have to climb first! I'm still yet to see the view from Notre-Dame but this also includes seeing the bells, so I'm not too reluctant to do that. And I still haven't seen a view of Paris at night....which could mean a fifth visit to the Eiffel Tower.
I have seen Paris from Tour Monparnasse, which was impressive but left me a little disappointed, perhaps due to the terrace being closed. From the Sacre-Coeur, which was interesting as you get to see a little more of northern Paris. And attempted to see the view from Paris' hot air balloon in Parc André Citroen; not a successful attempt as apparently the smallest breeze will cause them to stop the balloon rides for about two days which is really rather annoying when you have traveled from the other side of Paris to do this for your friend's last day. Lesson learned: call first.
My favourite view is still the one from Arc de Triomphe, it was high enough to see the important monuments but also not too high to still make out some details. The only disadvantage are the 284 stairs you have to climb first! I'm still yet to see the view from Notre-Dame but this also includes seeing the bells, so I'm not too reluctant to do that. And I still haven't seen a view of Paris at night....which could mean a fifth visit to the Eiffel Tower.
The View From Sacré-Coeur
From Tour Montparnasse
From Institut du Monde Arabe
From Arc de Triomphe
From Centre Pompidou
Thursday 23 June 2011
Job Disasters Pt II
Before the two job distasters that I wrote about in my previous post, I had two other job disasters but they were disasters for different reasons and one wasn't even my fault...
A friend who worked in the librarie of a musum sent my CV to her boss and managed to get me an interview at her work. Ok, the interview was actually with her, and it wasn't really an interview because we just chatted and drank coffee. However, I did meet the boss and after speaking to her she seemed keen to take me on. The only problem: "il vraiment faut avoir une convention de stage." A 'convention de stage,' which translates as a work placement/internship agreement, shouldn't be too much of a problem to come by I thought. That was until I contacted my university and they refused to provide me with one. I persisted and even asked about four different people but they all said no. The reason being: It isn't an 'integral' part of the year abroad. Read: We can't be bothered with the administration/it will cost us money. Great. All this document requires is a signature and a stamp. Other universities seem to give them out like sweets, but not Birmingham.
Then a couple of weeks later I received a phonecall from a subway-style restaurant. I chatted to the manager and it seemed to be going well until he asked about my disponibilité, to which I replied: "début de juin jusqu'à la fin d'août." He became a lot less keen and said they needed people who were staying much longer. Damn my honesty.
Today I received a voicemail from a cafe who received my CV from a bar I had applied to. Oh the irony; I spent three weeks job-hunting, waiting by the phone to hear something, and now I'm spending my time avoiding phonecalls from potential employers! Lesson learned: don't leave it so late to job-hunt next time.
A friend who worked in the librarie of a musum sent my CV to her boss and managed to get me an interview at her work. Ok, the interview was actually with her, and it wasn't really an interview because we just chatted and drank coffee. However, I did meet the boss and after speaking to her she seemed keen to take me on. The only problem: "il vraiment faut avoir une convention de stage." A 'convention de stage,' which translates as a work placement/internship agreement, shouldn't be too much of a problem to come by I thought. That was until I contacted my university and they refused to provide me with one. I persisted and even asked about four different people but they all said no. The reason being: It isn't an 'integral' part of the year abroad. Read: We can't be bothered with the administration/it will cost us money. Great. All this document requires is a signature and a stamp. Other universities seem to give them out like sweets, but not Birmingham.
Then a couple of weeks later I received a phonecall from a subway-style restaurant. I chatted to the manager and it seemed to be going well until he asked about my disponibilité, to which I replied: "début de juin jusqu'à la fin d'août." He became a lot less keen and said they needed people who were staying much longer. Damn my honesty.
Today I received a voicemail from a cafe who received my CV from a bar I had applied to. Oh the irony; I spent three weeks job-hunting, waiting by the phone to hear something, and now I'm spending my time avoiding phonecalls from potential employers! Lesson learned: don't leave it so late to job-hunt next time.
Sunday 19 June 2011
Job, Emploi, Travail, Boulot...
I've been job-hunting in Paris for about three weeks and have officially given up. A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from the owner of a restaurant telling me to come for an interview the next day at 4.30pm. So I went. The guy told me that it was a good thing I wasn't busy; he showed me an email from another girl who had asked if she could come another time but he told me that was her chance gone. Cut-throat. Anyway, we chatted a bit and he told me about the job, it wasn't much of an interview. He asked me to complete two tests; the first was to open a bottle of wine with a waiter's corkscrew, at which I failed miserably as I've never used one before. "I thought you said you'd worked in bars and resteraunts before?" He asked me. "Erm..no, a small bar, just one, for a couple of months..." So he set me another 'challenge;' he made me climb the stairs to the first floor of the restaurant, armed with three plates, and tell him how many chairs there were before getting to the top of the stairs. This one I completed with ease as it's not exactly difficult to count to 15. So he told me to come back the next day for a trial shift.
So I went back the next day to work with a horrible little man named 'Guido' - his name should have been warning sign #2 - and I was given no other training than: "When the customer arrives put some bread in a basket and serve it to the table." So, much shouting and biting my head off and snapping ensued when I set the table and mixed up the knife and fork, didn't miraculously know the table numbers or the dishes, and wouldn't clear away peoples plates when they were clearly still eating. He let me go an hour early and told me they'd call me. Needless to say they didn't, and somehow I wasn't disappointed.
My second experience was in the form of babysitting, or not babysitting, as it turned out that the family really wanted a cheap nanny. I don't really know why I went in the first place as I don't like babies, and less so why I didn't leave after I saw that the children were 2 and a half years and 14 months and the mother told me they'd need me to go to Nice that weekend and elsewhere in the south for 3 weeks in July. All of which sounds lovely but not when you're burdened with two bratty kids who aren't even your own. Despite this, out of politeness more than anything, I stayed that day to 'see how I got on with the kids.' Not very well. They were so snotty and dribbly and the girl pissed her pants. I think they felt that I was becoming less and less enamored with them (kids have a sort of sixth-sense for these things) and they started to want their daddy. Not their mommy, not surprisingly, as she was a complete bitch. We mutually agreed (the mother and I) that I was not at ease with kids that young and she sent me on my way without paying me.
Voila: two careers that I am not at all cut out for: nanny and waitress. Shame.
Starbucks rang me the next day asking if I was still looking for work and to call them if so. Despite the fact that I spend enough of my time in there that I might as well work for them, I've never worked as a barista so I just couldn't take the humiliation of potentially another job fail (although it would have made for a good blog entry). So I'm now officially a bum, which leaves more time to go and see all of the things I haven't yet. And maybe write a novel. Or some poetry. Or whatever it is unemployed people do in Paris. Otherwise, I could be unemployed in Birmingham and I'm pretty sure that entails watching all-day Jeremy Kyle marathons with a can of Stella in one hand and a baby in the other. Shudder.
So I went back the next day to work with a horrible little man named 'Guido' - his name should have been warning sign #2 - and I was given no other training than: "When the customer arrives put some bread in a basket and serve it to the table." So, much shouting and biting my head off and snapping ensued when I set the table and mixed up the knife and fork, didn't miraculously know the table numbers or the dishes, and wouldn't clear away peoples plates when they were clearly still eating. He let me go an hour early and told me they'd call me. Needless to say they didn't, and somehow I wasn't disappointed.
My second experience was in the form of babysitting, or not babysitting, as it turned out that the family really wanted a cheap nanny. I don't really know why I went in the first place as I don't like babies, and less so why I didn't leave after I saw that the children were 2 and a half years and 14 months and the mother told me they'd need me to go to Nice that weekend and elsewhere in the south for 3 weeks in July. All of which sounds lovely but not when you're burdened with two bratty kids who aren't even your own. Despite this, out of politeness more than anything, I stayed that day to 'see how I got on with the kids.' Not very well. They were so snotty and dribbly and the girl pissed her pants. I think they felt that I was becoming less and less enamored with them (kids have a sort of sixth-sense for these things) and they started to want their daddy. Not their mommy, not surprisingly, as she was a complete bitch. We mutually agreed (the mother and I) that I was not at ease with kids that young and she sent me on my way without paying me.
Voila: two careers that I am not at all cut out for: nanny and waitress. Shame.
Starbucks rang me the next day asking if I was still looking for work and to call them if so. Despite the fact that I spend enough of my time in there that I might as well work for them, I've never worked as a barista so I just couldn't take the humiliation of potentially another job fail (although it would have made for a good blog entry). So I'm now officially a bum, which leaves more time to go and see all of the things I haven't yet. And maybe write a novel. Or some poetry. Or whatever it is unemployed people do in Paris. Otherwise, I could be unemployed in Birmingham and I'm pretty sure that entails watching all-day Jeremy Kyle marathons with a can of Stella in one hand and a baby in the other. Shudder.
Wednesday 8 June 2011
I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself
After a stressful week of exams and then an emotional week of friends leaving, I'm now experiencing a week (well, two days so far) of lack of will and motivation to do much more than pop to the bakery to buy a demi-baguette.
My last two weeks at uni were not fun, consumed as they were with revision and exam worry. All of which paid off as I actually passed everything from my two semesters at a French uni (except for the two exams I missed). That stressful week was then replaced by celebrations (good) and people leaving (bad). I think I was busy every day from the Friday that I finished my last exam to the Sunday of the following week. It was a week that saw us taking the train out of Paris to visit Monet's water lily garden, taking a boat out on a lake in Bois de Boulogne and invited to brunch in a huge apartment just off the Champs Elysées.
My last two weeks at uni were not fun, consumed as they were with revision and exam worry. All of which paid off as I actually passed everything from my two semesters at a French uni (except for the two exams I missed). That stressful week was then replaced by celebrations (good) and people leaving (bad). I think I was busy every day from the Friday that I finished my last exam to the Sunday of the following week. It was a week that saw us taking the train out of Paris to visit Monet's water lily garden, taking a boat out on a lake in Bois de Boulogne and invited to brunch in a huge apartment just off the Champs Elysées.
~ Giverny ~
A fab week. And although this week started well, Hammam spa and massage then dinner for Kate's birthday, it hasn't been going too well since. And it's only Wednesday. The only things I have achieved this week are posting a parcel, buying some shampoo and catching up on some trash TV, including watching almost a whole season of The Nanny. And it's only Wednesday. I have intended to job-hunt for the last two days but it hasn't really happened. I'm feeling a little un-motivated to do so. Hopefully tomorrow will be more successful, but with going out tonight, I can already see a hangover being tomorrow's excuse.
Wednesday 1 June 2011
Paris Checklist II
Since my last Paris Checklist, I've upgraded the scrappy bit of paper sellotaped to my wall to a word document shortcut on my desktop; a sign that things are going well, I'd say! I think I managed to do quite a lot but places remain unvisited and, as usual, more things keep cropping up. So here is the updated version:
Culture
Eglise St. Eustache
Musée du Quai Branly
See the bells of Notre-Dame
Food
Parks
Bois de Vincennes
Parc Floral
General things to do
Go to the Paris Plage
See a film at the Open-air cinema
Saturday 7 May 2011
Celebrity Spotting in Paris
I don't know what it is about the combination of Gina, me and the Marais that draws out the celebs, but today we had our second (major) celebrity sighting. Such a beautiful day as it was, the two of us went for tea in a little Asian-style tea room and for a walk afterwards. As we were strolling past a park, Gina suddenly piped up with: "That's Bob Geldof...and Pixie!" This time we didn't speak to them but I took some sneaky snaps.
When I sent a text to my dad to tell him, he responded: "Scruffy looking, I'll bet." Right on the mark, dad. He looked as homeless as ever, despite having an obscene amount of money and berating us mere mortals for not donating our every last penny to this charity or that. As my flatmate replied when I told him I had been celebrity spotting: "You mean uglyspotting."
When I sent a text to my dad to tell him, he responded: "Scruffy looking, I'll bet." Right on the mark, dad. He looked as homeless as ever, despite having an obscene amount of money and berating us mere mortals for not donating our every last penny to this charity or that. As my flatmate replied when I told him I had been celebrity spotting: "You mean uglyspotting."
Tuesday 3 May 2011
A Moveable Feast
Everywhere I turn I seem to be hearing about people who come to Paris and never leave. In fact, it's happening in front of my very eyes. Somehow, I came across the blog of an American woman who came to Paris for a couple of years and ended up staying an extra year, and through her blog I came across the blogs of many more expat Anglophones living here. Even an author who has been here for 20 years.
So when I say that this is happening in front of my very eyes, I'm referring to my flatmate and friends. Kate came here with limited French on a six month internship for an international newspaper. A month after the end of her internship, she is writing reviews for other English language publications and teaching English to children in an attempt to earn some money and improve her French, because she simply does not want to leave. I have two friends who were supposed to come here for their Erasmus year and one has decided to stay indefinitely, while the other has decided to defer her place at her English uni for an extra year.
I have also got the I-want-to-stay-forever bug. I've already decided to look for a job for the summer so that I can extend my stay for another three months, but after that I am condemned to moving home. While it helps that I'm living with two of my best friends next year, I am still going to be disappointed to leave. Throughout my time here I have met people who just get the staying fever or they don't. There are those who come here and while they have fun, they look forward to going home because they want to carry on with things they have going on there. And then there are those who come and just can't bear to tear themselves away.
I think I fall into the latter category, and by this point would probably be thinking about staying for a lot longer if I didn't have my final year of uni to complete. In the mean time, I have to decide what kind of work I want to do, if I'm going to stay for the summer...
So when I say that this is happening in front of my very eyes, I'm referring to my flatmate and friends. Kate came here with limited French on a six month internship for an international newspaper. A month after the end of her internship, she is writing reviews for other English language publications and teaching English to children in an attempt to earn some money and improve her French, because she simply does not want to leave. I have two friends who were supposed to come here for their Erasmus year and one has decided to stay indefinitely, while the other has decided to defer her place at her English uni for an extra year.
I have also got the I-want-to-stay-forever bug. I've already decided to look for a job for the summer so that I can extend my stay for another three months, but after that I am condemned to moving home. While it helps that I'm living with two of my best friends next year, I am still going to be disappointed to leave. Throughout my time here I have met people who just get the staying fever or they don't. There are those who come here and while they have fun, they look forward to going home because they want to carry on with things they have going on there. And then there are those who come and just can't bear to tear themselves away.
I think I fall into the latter category, and by this point would probably be thinking about staying for a lot longer if I didn't have my final year of uni to complete. In the mean time, I have to decide what kind of work I want to do, if I'm going to stay for the summer...
Thursday 28 April 2011
To Wedding or Not To Wedding...?
Tomorrow, I will be among the minority of English people who are not watching the royal wedding. Not because I am completely uninterested and don't really see the point of the royal family (let alone some second-in-line-to-the-throne Prince's marriage to a commoner) which is true. It's actually because I will be stuck in a windowless classroom in a French university being told when it is grammatically correct to use the subjunctive and indicative tenses. But why should I care about something that will probably be as dull as conjugating French verbs in the subjunctive? I have no interest in the royal wedding, or any wedding unless it's on some trashy TV show. Yet, I do care and I'm actually contemplating missing my classes to watch the annoying thing because of peer pressure. Or not peer pressure exactly - I haven't been told I'll be totally uncool if I don't just try it once - but if everyone watches it and I don't, I'll feel totally out of the loop: "Remember in the wedding when..." Not only that, but my friends who are watching are going to get together at the pub...while I'll be doing four straight hours of French!
So there lies my dilemma: it would be terribly un-British of me to miss such a significant event, especially in favour of learning French. But then again, I shouldn't miss out on uni for such a petty reason, when I don't really care about it in the first place. Seems like my only solution is to miss the classes anyway, stay in bed, and get it when it comes out on DVD...
Friday 15 April 2011
Banning the Burqa in France
On Monday 11th April an undoubtedly controversial law came into effect in France which enforces a ban on women wearing the Niquab or Burqa on the street in France. France prides itself on being a secular state, which is a state devoid of any religious influence and for a long time already, religious symbols have been banned in public schools. But one cannot help wondering if this new law has some discriminatory undertones to it.
On one hand, I am completely opposed to women being forced to cover themselves up. It is sexist and oppressive to make a woman hide parts of her body because it is seen as indecent, especially when the parts of her body concerned are completely natural and inoffensive. These women are being deprived of freedom of speech, however, the French government's new law is depriving them just the same, as it also forces these women to dress in a certain manner.
On the other hand, the burqa and niqab are often worn simply as religious symbols; many women wear them not because they are being made to, but because they choose to. These religious symbols can function just as the cross to Catholics and Christians and the star of David to the Jewish faith. One particular religion is being targeted by this law and these women should be able to wear what they choose whether they have been made to or not. As the old cliché goes: two wrongs don't make a right.
So all this in the name of laïcité? This law, which is meant to keep the streets peaceful and safe, just seems unnecessary. Although a small minority perhaps demonstrates the contrary, most people are capable of living side by side peacefully, despite differing beliefs. As long as people's religion does not impede the rights of others or cause harm to people, why should some be unable to simply show that they belong to one particular faith?
Despite the reasons that the government has provided to justify this act, the whole issue is very tentative and I firmly believe that there is some discrimination at play here. This law is an extremely serious one considering the fact that it is designed to affect such a small group of people; it is believed that only 2,000 women wear the burqa or niqab in France.
Women and men alike should have the freedom to wear what they choose as long as they do not cause harm to or discriminate against others. I for one do not agree with the fact that men are able to make their wives, daughters or sisters dress in a certain way, but I do not believe the government, which advocates equality and fights against sexism, should have the right to oppress these women either.
On one hand, I am completely opposed to women being forced to cover themselves up. It is sexist and oppressive to make a woman hide parts of her body because it is seen as indecent, especially when the parts of her body concerned are completely natural and inoffensive. These women are being deprived of freedom of speech, however, the French government's new law is depriving them just the same, as it also forces these women to dress in a certain manner.
On the other hand, the burqa and niqab are often worn simply as religious symbols; many women wear them not because they are being made to, but because they choose to. These religious symbols can function just as the cross to Catholics and Christians and the star of David to the Jewish faith. One particular religion is being targeted by this law and these women should be able to wear what they choose whether they have been made to or not. As the old cliché goes: two wrongs don't make a right.
So all this in the name of laïcité? This law, which is meant to keep the streets peaceful and safe, just seems unnecessary. Although a small minority perhaps demonstrates the contrary, most people are capable of living side by side peacefully, despite differing beliefs. As long as people's religion does not impede the rights of others or cause harm to people, why should some be unable to simply show that they belong to one particular faith?
Despite the reasons that the government has provided to justify this act, the whole issue is very tentative and I firmly believe that there is some discrimination at play here. This law is an extremely serious one considering the fact that it is designed to affect such a small group of people; it is believed that only 2,000 women wear the burqa or niqab in France.
Women and men alike should have the freedom to wear what they choose as long as they do not cause harm to or discriminate against others. I for one do not agree with the fact that men are able to make their wives, daughters or sisters dress in a certain way, but I do not believe the government, which advocates equality and fights against sexism, should have the right to oppress these women either.
Sunday 27 March 2011
"Well, my life is getting in the way of my alcoholism!"
was kate's witty response to my: "My alcoholism is getting in the way of my life!" We were joking, of course, but this weekend has been, unintentionally, an alcohol-themed one.
We started out on Thursday when a friend's mum came to visit, at Le Refuge des Fondus. Possibly the smallest restaurant in the world, no dignity is spared when you climb over the table to take your seat. At 18€ per person, it's not the cheapest meal but you pay for the novelty value; drinks in baby bottles and bottomless bread. Anyway, it was the baby bottles that saw Kate and I a little tipsy upon leaving the resto. Not really sure how that happened but no drunken antics ensued, all in all it was very civilised.
Friday night, on the other hand, was a little different. In fact, it all was bound to go downhill after someone uttered the words: "How about we play ring of fire?" Only having four players made for some interesting states just leaving the house. We went to another quirky (tiny) indie bar: L'Orange Mécanique. Despite our game of ROF and the cards being biased against our Norwegian flatmate, even though they were playing cards with Norwegian-French phrases on them, the night was going fairly well until we decided to catch the night bus home.
'Interesting' is the only word I can think of to describe taking the Noctilien that night. We caught our first night bus from Belleville to Chatelet with a group of gangsters smoking cigarettes at the back and caught our second bus from Chatelet to Chateau Rouge with a group of gangsters smoking spliff at the back. So out of it as they were, they forgot to press the button to call their stop and the driver drove past it. Reasonably (sarcasm), they shouted at the driver to stop but as he wouldn't they tried the emergency stop button. Being so stupid as they were, they couldn't work it and just had to wait for the next stop (5 minutes away from theirs). As they filed off the bus they had one last attempt at the emergency break and my astute housemate noted that "Darwinism has failed."
Not that we can claim to be any more intelligent; if you know Paris or just look at a metro map, you will see that we went all the way into the centre to come all the way back out when walking westwards would have taken half the time. Things began to look up when we saw that the local bakery was still open (at 4am?!), and began to go downhill again when we were accosted by two drunk guys also taking advantage of the still open bakery. We left with some new drug-dealers: "I sell shit you know, take my number if you need some." Needless to say, I didn't take his number as I definitely didn't ask if he sold drugs.
So we all wake up on Saturday feeling a little worse for wear and anticipate with dread the thought of our impending wine-tasting afternoon. The wine-tasting was held inside a stuffy hall where the whole world seemed to be. After tasting a good few wines, that were very nice, we began to feel the effects and decided to leave. Cue Saturday night at 23h30; an impromptu night out with my Norwegian flatmate to a French soirée. We had all sorts of expectations of something more civilised than our Ring of Fire evening. This was not the case. One girl was already pretty drunk but preceeded to carry on doing tequila shots. Needless to say, she finished up the night with her head in the toilet.
Although I didn't drink as much as the girl at the party, I'm now sitting in bed feeling sorry for myself. It's not quite the end of the weekend but I can honestly say, I hope that no more alcohol will be consumed...
We started out on Thursday when a friend's mum came to visit, at Le Refuge des Fondus. Possibly the smallest restaurant in the world, no dignity is spared when you climb over the table to take your seat. At 18€ per person, it's not the cheapest meal but you pay for the novelty value; drinks in baby bottles and bottomless bread. Anyway, it was the baby bottles that saw Kate and I a little tipsy upon leaving the resto. Not really sure how that happened but no drunken antics ensued, all in all it was very civilised.
Friday night, on the other hand, was a little different. In fact, it all was bound to go downhill after someone uttered the words: "How about we play ring of fire?" Only having four players made for some interesting states just leaving the house. We went to another quirky (tiny) indie bar: L'Orange Mécanique. Despite our game of ROF and the cards being biased against our Norwegian flatmate, even though they were playing cards with Norwegian-French phrases on them, the night was going fairly well until we decided to catch the night bus home.
'Interesting' is the only word I can think of to describe taking the Noctilien that night. We caught our first night bus from Belleville to Chatelet with a group of gangsters smoking cigarettes at the back and caught our second bus from Chatelet to Chateau Rouge with a group of gangsters smoking spliff at the back. So out of it as they were, they forgot to press the button to call their stop and the driver drove past it. Reasonably (sarcasm), they shouted at the driver to stop but as he wouldn't they tried the emergency stop button. Being so stupid as they were, they couldn't work it and just had to wait for the next stop (5 minutes away from theirs). As they filed off the bus they had one last attempt at the emergency break and my astute housemate noted that "Darwinism has failed."
Not that we can claim to be any more intelligent; if you know Paris or just look at a metro map, you will see that we went all the way into the centre to come all the way back out when walking westwards would have taken half the time. Things began to look up when we saw that the local bakery was still open (at 4am?!), and began to go downhill again when we were accosted by two drunk guys also taking advantage of the still open bakery. We left with some new drug-dealers: "I sell shit you know, take my number if you need some." Needless to say, I didn't take his number as I definitely didn't ask if he sold drugs.
So we all wake up on Saturday feeling a little worse for wear and anticipate with dread the thought of our impending wine-tasting afternoon. The wine-tasting was held inside a stuffy hall where the whole world seemed to be. After tasting a good few wines, that were very nice, we began to feel the effects and decided to leave. Cue Saturday night at 23h30; an impromptu night out with my Norwegian flatmate to a French soirée. We had all sorts of expectations of something more civilised than our Ring of Fire evening. This was not the case. One girl was already pretty drunk but preceeded to carry on doing tequila shots. Needless to say, she finished up the night with her head in the toilet.
Although I didn't drink as much as the girl at the party, I'm now sitting in bed feeling sorry for myself. It's not quite the end of the weekend but I can honestly say, I hope that no more alcohol will be consumed...
Sunday 6 March 2011
The Curious Incident of the Pear in the Night-time
This weekend after a series of (two) strange events, I am left feeling as though I have entered some sort of Twilight Zone. Both events took place on Saturday night (or more accurately; Sunday morning), the first being the pear incident. As I was up so late I got hungry, so I decided on a healthy snack to sate my hunger. But when I reached for one of the pears in my cupboard, it felt wet and mushy. Preparing myself for a mouldy patch, I picked it up, only to find that someone had taken a bite out of it. Not a small mouse-bite; a huge human bite. Obviously I hadn't bought it like that and there was only one bite missing, so it wasn't eaten by a hungry flatmate. What's more is that it was still wet and only a little brown, suggesting that it was a recent incident. Only me and one other flatmate were in, hanging out together... Baffled.
Incident number two is the toilet book incident. I should probably explain what the toilet book is first. The toilet book is a book with blank pages, which is kept in the toilet so that people can record their toilet-time musings. We also get guests to contribute to it. So, it was a little weird when my housemate and I found strange hand-writing in it, that we didn't recognise. As I said, it was just the two of us in the flat. One flatmate hasn't wrote in it before so we guessed that one set of handwriting belonged to him as he had just got back before we saw it. But what was odd was that someone had written underneath it and it didn't match any of our penmanship.
Perhaps the old lady across the corridor has been sneaking in here, although judging by the amount of time it takes just to unlock her front door, I just don't think she is stealthy enough. Perhaps someone is playing a trick on me/us, but I just can't shake this eerie feeling...
Incident number two is the toilet book incident. I should probably explain what the toilet book is first. The toilet book is a book with blank pages, which is kept in the toilet so that people can record their toilet-time musings. We also get guests to contribute to it. So, it was a little weird when my housemate and I found strange hand-writing in it, that we didn't recognise. As I said, it was just the two of us in the flat. One flatmate hasn't wrote in it before so we guessed that one set of handwriting belonged to him as he had just got back before we saw it. But what was odd was that someone had written underneath it and it didn't match any of our penmanship.
Perhaps the old lady across the corridor has been sneaking in here, although judging by the amount of time it takes just to unlock her front door, I just don't think she is stealthy enough. Perhaps someone is playing a trick on me/us, but I just can't shake this eerie feeling...
Thursday 3 March 2011
Amsterdam, Je t'aime pas
As much as I love Paris, it's always nice to go somewhere a little (a lot) less stressful; more laid-back. So, last weekend my flatmate and I embarked upon a trip to Amsterdam, perhaps perceived to be a city that defines the expression 'laid-back'. However, after spending two days there it didn't really live up to its reputation. There were only three incidents that left me with this impression but they were three incidents in pretty much one day.
The first was being dug in the arm by an angry cyclist. The cycle paths are not at all clearly marked for a city which has a multi-story parking space...for bikes, and I found myself unintentionally walking on one. An angry man careered towards me shouting in Dutch so I did my best to move out of the way and he still felt the need to discipline me, and hit me in the arm as he went past. The second incident was when my flatmate paid for the bus with a 20 euro note, she was met with a snotty "Get the right change next time." Finally, there was the guy trying to break into the hostel by charging the door and subsequently cracking the glass.
I met up with a friend who happened to be there the same weekend and when I asked her what she thought of Amsterdam she replied: "The people are quite rude, aren't they?" By this point I hadn't had a chance to experience said rudeness but I definitely left with the same impression.
Perhaps I was in a bad mood because it rained all weekend and being a Brit, this doesn't bode well; cue two grumpy girls lamenting the wind/rain combination and wrestling with fly-away umbrellas. The hostel we stayed in was really good; clean and spacious and it is a very pretty city. I can't make the generalisation that everyone there was rude as I did ask for directions and came accross a very polite man who was even concerned for our welfare: "Vondelpark? Well it's quite a long walk and you don't want to go there at night."
I think the bad experiences were increased ten-fold today when I went to Gare du Nord with an optimistic disposition and some faith left in humanity, only to find out that no-one had handed in my ipod which I left on the train. I suppose I can't really blame the Dutch for this...but, I bet it was a Frenchie that stole it!
Monday 21 February 2011
Food, Glorious Food!
I am guilty of a gross neglect of this blog over the past few weeks. But the truth is that I have been otherwise occupied. With what you ask? Perhaps exploring the beautiful streets and culture that Paris has to offer, travelling somewhere exotic or having a Parisian romance? Two of the three indeed being true, none of these reasons account for my extended blogging absence. In fact, the only thing to blame is: eating. I have been distracted by all of the gastronomical delights Paris has to offer and I have consumed them non-stop since my last post.
28/01: The weekend of my birthday my friends came to visit, and we had a day brimming over with culture; think the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame... But upon their leaving, the eating commenced and not even with lovely French food, but with burgers and pizza. In my defence I was hung over and already missing my friends.
04/02: This weekend my flatmate's sister came to visit her, so we sampled cakes and hot chocolate at Angelina's, ate falafel in le Marais and - and this is where it all goes wrong - Myberry. Myberry is a frozen yoghurt shop in le Marais, where you add your topping(s)of choice to a generous helping of frozen yoghurt, and it's addictive. On Sunday we went to the Chinese New Year Parade and ate Chinese food afterwards...followed by Myberry again.
12/02: On Saturday: My flatmate and I were lazy and went to le Marais again. We ate Jewish food for lunch, Myberry for desert (again!) and had coffee after. Sunday we managed to inject some culture into our lives and went to Versailles.
18/02: Friday night: Japanese food. Sunday morning: Breakfast in America; muffins, pancakes and a lot of syrup.
So, I haven't actually been eating any nice French food and with a trip to Amsterdam and Pancake Day coming up, it doesn't look likely to happen soon; at least I've not been eating typically 'British' food though, right? Anyway, what do I have to show for these weekends of gluttony? Some fond memories and an extra dress size...*
* I haven't actually gone up a dress size; I would be devastated!
28/01: The weekend of my birthday my friends came to visit, and we had a day brimming over with culture; think the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame... But upon their leaving, the eating commenced and not even with lovely French food, but with burgers and pizza. In my defence I was hung over and already missing my friends.
04/02: This weekend my flatmate's sister came to visit her, so we sampled cakes and hot chocolate at Angelina's, ate falafel in le Marais and - and this is where it all goes wrong - Myberry. Myberry is a frozen yoghurt shop in le Marais, where you add your topping(s)of choice to a generous helping of frozen yoghurt, and it's addictive. On Sunday we went to the Chinese New Year Parade and ate Chinese food afterwards...followed by Myberry again.
12/02: On Saturday: My flatmate and I were lazy and went to le Marais again. We ate Jewish food for lunch, Myberry for desert (again!) and had coffee after. Sunday we managed to inject some culture into our lives and went to Versailles.
18/02: Friday night: Japanese food. Sunday morning: Breakfast in America; muffins, pancakes and a lot of syrup.
So, I haven't actually been eating any nice French food and with a trip to Amsterdam and Pancake Day coming up, it doesn't look likely to happen soon; at least I've not been eating typically 'British' food though, right? Anyway, what do I have to show for these weekends of gluttony? Some fond memories and an extra dress size...*
* I haven't actually gone up a dress size; I would be devastated!
Tuesday 25 January 2011
Culture Shock
I have been so cultured recently, and have ticked quite a few things off my Paris Checklist and then some! I managed to get to the Catacombs, Cimitere de Montmartre, Promenade Plantée, Musée d'Orsay and go to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. All are worth going to, with a personal favourite being the Arc de Triomphe. There is something about being in the middle of a busy city, high above the hustle and bustle, that I love.
As for the things that weren't on my list: if anyone in Paris at the moment is interested in cinema and/or French historical monuments, then I urge you to go to the 'Monuments, stars du 7e Art' exhibition at La Conciergerie. The exhibition is on until 13th Feb and is really interesting. I would also recommend the 'Reporters Sans Frontiers' exhibition at Le Petit Palais to anyone. It's evocative and shocking (in a tactful way): on until 27th Feb. I also found myself at Le Mosquée last week, a Moroccan/Arabic style tea room with very sweet tea and cakes, saving my crumbs for the little birds flying around inside.
Being cultured for a whole week deserves a little relaxing (read: drinking) time so my friends and I made the most of the weekend (starting Thursday night) and went to some really fun places: Café Charbon who do 1 litre cocktails for 19€ which was pretty good between four of us, L'International which was hosting a gig in its basement room, La Machine du Moulin Rouge which is a fantastic club venue where we got to see a short film about All Tomorrow's Parties; great film, terrible music (in my opinion) and finally, au contraire to the unenjoyable music at La Machine, a playlist that would make Snobs proud in Pop In's sweaty basement room.
All in all, a fab week which has come to an abrupt end with the start of university classes. Ici, la fin de la vie de loisir et le début du grand stress!
Sunday 16 January 2011
Blinded by the Light
As far as crazy nights out in Paris go, Friday night at Duplex wasn't particularly remarkable until we left. The initial worry of would we/wouldn't we get in was dispelled when my flat-mate and I were looked up and down by a bouncer and deemed acceptable enough to go on in. The club was pretty good except for the severe lack of investment in any air conditioning system. The music was fun and the men sleazy, of course. I don't really see the reason for the apparent exclusivity, apart from the fact that it is on the road opposite the Champs Elysées. The night was good but was made great by the people I went with.
We left the venue feeling giddy with excitement at stealing a guy's woolly hat and taking loads of photos with it, finding my flat-mate's incredibly cute future husband and the juxtaposition of such a snobby club playing 'Cotton Eye Joe.' Amidst the giddiness, I, rather immaturely, decided to take a photo of the road we were on: 'Avenue de Foch,' please forgive my idiocy - I'd had a few drinks.
Aparrently, I was to be punished for being so silly as I unwittingly captured two men standing underneath the sign; big mistake. One of the men stormed over to me and demanded: "T'as pris une photo?" To which I replied: "Err...oui." And suddenly he shouted: "Non! Tu ne prends pas une photo!" Proceeded to whack my camera out of my hand causing the batteries to fly out, and then grab it from the floor and storm off with it.
Luckily, a different drunk guy came to the rescue; he actually ran after him and managed to get my camera back, unharmed. Then he tried to explain in broken English that the guy didn't want me to take any pictures of the club... Fine, apart from the fact that the club was behind me when I was taking the photo.
He must have become incensed after being exposed to the camera's bright flash, kind of like how Gremlins have an aversion to sunlight/bright lights. The moral of the story is: grow up and stop finding words that sound like swear-words funny. Here is the incriminating photo. (He is the guy all in black.)
We left the venue feeling giddy with excitement at stealing a guy's woolly hat and taking loads of photos with it, finding my flat-mate's incredibly cute future husband and the juxtaposition of such a snobby club playing 'Cotton Eye Joe.' Amidst the giddiness, I, rather immaturely, decided to take a photo of the road we were on: 'Avenue de Foch,' please forgive my idiocy - I'd had a few drinks.
Aparrently, I was to be punished for being so silly as I unwittingly captured two men standing underneath the sign; big mistake. One of the men stormed over to me and demanded: "T'as pris une photo?" To which I replied: "Err...oui." And suddenly he shouted: "Non! Tu ne prends pas une photo!" Proceeded to whack my camera out of my hand causing the batteries to fly out, and then grab it from the floor and storm off with it.
Luckily, a different drunk guy came to the rescue; he actually ran after him and managed to get my camera back, unharmed. Then he tried to explain in broken English that the guy didn't want me to take any pictures of the club... Fine, apart from the fact that the club was behind me when I was taking the photo.
He must have become incensed after being exposed to the camera's bright flash, kind of like how Gremlins have an aversion to sunlight/bright lights. The moral of the story is: grow up and stop finding words that sound like swear-words funny. Here is the incriminating photo. (He is the guy all in black.)
Wednesday 12 January 2011
Les Conventions Françaises #2
- NB: This post is essentially just a rant. -
So, apparently, another French convention within the scope of taking exams is to have a completely useless and rubbish system in place.So rubbish and useless that I have managed to miss two of my exams and turn up three hours early for another. I know I'm not renowned for being the most astute person ever and have been known to make some silly mistakes, however, these weren't (entirely) my fault, in fact, I attribute most of the blame to the crap French exam system.
Examen 1: Raté
Weeks and weeks before I even knew the date of this exam, I had booked a weekend trip to Barcelona with a friend. Imagine my horror when my lecturer gave us the date of the exam and I realised that I wouldn't actually be in the country on that date. My fault though, right? Well, imagine my horror when I decided not to go to the class the next week as I knew they would be correcting the exam, and found out from a girl in my class that it had been moved to that week instead... Still my fault isn't it?
Examen 2: Trois heures trop tôt
The teacher had confirmed that the exam would be at 13.30, first Wednesday back, same room. So when a friend sent me a link to the exam planning for that department, I asked myself why the website would explicitly state that the exam was going take place at 10.30 in a completely different room? Unfortunately, I wasn't chez moi that evening, so in the morning I hot-footed it over to the campus with no pens, paper or a dictionary, met my friends to go to the exam, only to find that it wasn't taking place then. It was in fact at 13.30, in the room we had originally thought it to be.
Examen 3: Raté
Well, all I did this time was simply check the website and note down the time: Jeudi 13 Janvier 16.30. Then I got a text on Monday from a friend doing the same course but a different subject within the course, asking if I had the exam and if so, to come and sit near her when I got there. Strange, I thought, as I was actually on my way to a different exam. I assured myself that hers was probably at a different time as it was a different subject, but I emailed my tutor just in case. It did take place when my friend text me, when I was doing another exam. I find this ridiculous as both subjects are from the same department and thus are bound to have students who must sit both, so why were they on at the same time?
SYSTEME FRANCAIS DE MERDE!
Monday 10 January 2011
French Pulling Tips #1
Take your cat on the metro
Yes, I actually saw a woman with a cat on the metro yesterday, and not in one of those carriers that you use to take them to the vets. No, it had a harness and a lead on. Which all may seem rather innocent, but when kitty's owner sits in the seat right next to cute French guy and kitty takes a shine to him, it becomes not so innocent.
The kitty (which was so cute by the way!) made friends with the man by purring round him and wandering onto his lap, thus commanding his full attention. He made silly cutesy noises to the kitty and got chatting to the owner. I couldn't believe it! She's lucky he was so understanding, I can't imagine that many people would be enamoured with someone else's cat walking all over them whilst they're trying to maintain their best I'm-pissed-off-because-I'm-on-the-métro face?
Alas, her pulling technique failed as he descended the metro and left her and her kitty without his number. Kitty proceeded to do a cat walk (ha!) and paraded up and down by the seats. Presumably attempting to attract a mate, although whether it was for the cat itself or its owner, I'm not sure. I think I would advise against this method as she was probably pretty lucky to find someone who didn't mind putting their book down for a few minutes to coo over her cat, and not get annoyed at leaving the metro with cat hairs all over his best work trousers.
[As I don't have a picture of le chat dans le métro, here is a photo I took of a cat in another inappropriate place - a bakery window, atop the baguettes.]
Yes, I actually saw a woman with a cat on the metro yesterday, and not in one of those carriers that you use to take them to the vets. No, it had a harness and a lead on. Which all may seem rather innocent, but when kitty's owner sits in the seat right next to cute French guy and kitty takes a shine to him, it becomes not so innocent.
The kitty (which was so cute by the way!) made friends with the man by purring round him and wandering onto his lap, thus commanding his full attention. He made silly cutesy noises to the kitty and got chatting to the owner. I couldn't believe it! She's lucky he was so understanding, I can't imagine that many people would be enamoured with someone else's cat walking all over them whilst they're trying to maintain their best I'm-pissed-off-because-I'm-on-the-métro face?
Alas, her pulling technique failed as he descended the metro and left her and her kitty without his number. Kitty proceeded to do a cat walk (ha!) and paraded up and down by the seats. Presumably attempting to attract a mate, although whether it was for the cat itself or its owner, I'm not sure. I think I would advise against this method as she was probably pretty lucky to find someone who didn't mind putting their book down for a few minutes to coo over her cat, and not get annoyed at leaving the metro with cat hairs all over his best work trousers.
[As I don't have a picture of le chat dans le métro, here is a photo I took of a cat in another inappropriate place - a bakery window, atop the baguettes.]
Saturday 8 January 2011
Centre Pompidou
Going to a gallery of modern art always reminds me just how much I dislike modern art. I find that it can be distasteful, shocking for the sake of being shocking and pointless. However, it also reminded me just how intelligent some modern thinkers are/were. Actually, I don't dislike all modern art; in fact, it's the really modern stuff that I dislike, rather than the exhibitions at Centre Pompidou. However, some of the pictures and installations made me question how they could possibly be called art. Of course, this is what makes it art; the fact that it invokes such a strong reaction. If you can walk past a piece of art without having any feeling towards it, then it hasn't really achieved its goal - to make you feel, think, question. In my opinion, anyway.
Tuesday 4 January 2011
Les Conventions Françaises
Today I had a rather casual experience: sitting my first exam of the term. "Casual" not normally being an appropriate adjective for sitting an exam, unless you are doing it at the uni I'm currently studying at.
I'm not sure if it is just this uni - because, in all honesty, it's pretty rubbish - or all French unis but I was a bit shocked by the way the whole thing was conducted. I walked in, amidst many other students who were chatting away, took my own answer paper and rough work paper from a desk at the front and then sat wherever I liked (on the end of the row quite far back.) Entering an exam in England is so different; you are to be silent as soon as you enter the exam room and you take the seat that is allocated to you where your answer paper will already be waiting for you.
The room proceeded to fill up and people carried on chatting and sitting together; another difference: whenever I have taken an exam in a lecture theatre, we are told to sit with an empty seat between us. Not in this uni! Once (almost) everyone was present and seated, the lecturer began to explain the paper briefly whilst it was distributed among us. We have lackeys - sorry, exam assistants - back home to do that for us. And, in addition to explaining the paper, one of the people overseeing the exam treats us to a long speech about procedures, practices etc.
All the papers were given out and we were able to start. Glancing around the room, I noticed that everyone had their phones sat on the desk, some using them... What?! Back at home that phone isn't even supposed to be on your person let alone your desk or in your hand, while you text someone "Examen de merde!" (Or so I imagine.) The guy next to me could have even been suspected of cheating; he was constantly texting and looking at his phone and then writing. Even if he wasn't, anyone could have been.
Twice during the exam the lecturer (the only person overseeing the exam) decided we were to be trusted and left, not for a short while either. And everyone began to chat.
This whole experience baffled me, perhaps the French education system is more trusting of its students, perhaps it really is a reflection of how rubbish my uni is; or even just that particular module, or perhaps it is in-keeping with that blasé French attitude we have come to know and love.
If the guy next to me doesn't get full marks on the paper, then my faith in honesty and human decency will be restored.
I'm not sure if it is just this uni - because, in all honesty, it's pretty rubbish - or all French unis but I was a bit shocked by the way the whole thing was conducted. I walked in, amidst many other students who were chatting away, took my own answer paper and rough work paper from a desk at the front and then sat wherever I liked (on the end of the row quite far back.) Entering an exam in England is so different; you are to be silent as soon as you enter the exam room and you take the seat that is allocated to you where your answer paper will already be waiting for you.
The room proceeded to fill up and people carried on chatting and sitting together; another difference: whenever I have taken an exam in a lecture theatre, we are told to sit with an empty seat between us. Not in this uni! Once (almost) everyone was present and seated, the lecturer began to explain the paper briefly whilst it was distributed among us. We have lackeys - sorry, exam assistants - back home to do that for us. And, in addition to explaining the paper, one of the people overseeing the exam treats us to a long speech about procedures, practices etc.
All the papers were given out and we were able to start. Glancing around the room, I noticed that everyone had their phones sat on the desk, some using them... What?! Back at home that phone isn't even supposed to be on your person let alone your desk or in your hand, while you text someone "Examen de merde!" (Or so I imagine.) The guy next to me could have even been suspected of cheating; he was constantly texting and looking at his phone and then writing. Even if he wasn't, anyone could have been.
Twice during the exam the lecturer (the only person overseeing the exam) decided we were to be trusted and left, not for a short while either. And everyone began to chat.
This whole experience baffled me, perhaps the French education system is more trusting of its students, perhaps it really is a reflection of how rubbish my uni is; or even just that particular module, or perhaps it is in-keeping with that blasé French attitude we have come to know and love.
If the guy next to me doesn't get full marks on the paper, then my faith in honesty and human decency will be restored.
Monday 3 January 2011
Paris Checklist
Apart from a little scrappy bit of paper sellotaped to my wall, I haven't made a comprehensive list of places to go and things to do in Paris. Despite this, I have actually managed to tick some things off said scrap. So, here is my comprehensive list of things I am yet to see or do.
La Culture
1.
2.
3.
4.
5. Archives Nationales
6. Sainte-Chapelle
7. Eglise St. Eustache
8.
9.
10. Tour Montparnasse
11.
13. Palais Royal
14. Museum Nationale d'Histoire Naturelle
15.
16. Musée du Quai Branly
17. Cimitière du Montparnasse
Shopping
1. Le Pestacle de Maëlou
2. Hi Panda
La Nourriture
1.
2.
3. Baccarat - also inspired by Gossip Girl. This one probably won't happen, but one can dream, non?
4.
6. The (elusive) British food shop
Pour prendre une verre (ou deux)
1.
2. La Fleche d'Or
3.
4.
5. Le Tigre
(Merci Indie Travel Guide)
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