Encounters at the End of the World: Is the World Ending?

I haven't posted for a while. I'm sorry. I've been gorging on turkey, cookies and chocolate - and feel rightfully fat and sassy about it. I won't bore you with a play by play of my Christmas vacation. Rather, I wanted to talk about something that's been making me think over the break.

Encounters at the End of the World.

A kooky film my dad picked up about the Antartic (because it was in blue ray I imagine) but that ended up being so much more than a documentary (errr or maybe didn't end up being a documentary at all...).

I thought it was going to be a documentary on Antartica and the conditions there, penguins, blah blah blah. In fact, it seemed more of an exploration of the kind of scientific work going on there, and the scientists doing that work... basically how the movie is kooky, since I guess it's kind of a prerequisite to be a little nuts to live there all year long...

Here's a little excerpt from a site that sums that part up pretty well:

"The most interesting part of the show is Herzog's interviews with various camp personnel, who share tendencies toward spirituality or extreme adventurism. The solitude amplifies their sense of inner harmony. One plumbing contractor has oddly proportioned fingers that identify him as a descendant of Aztec royalty. A construction worker imparts his clear-cut philosophy to Herzog. A biologist likes to show his crew apocalyptic science fiction movies, prompting Herzog to pursue a speech about the likelihood that man will soon make himself extinct. Although Global Warming is mentioned, Herzog does not make the subject into a main issue. "

http://www.film.com/movies/encounters-the-end-of-world/story/dvd-encounters-end-of-world/24762522

Here's where my rumination comes in: during one of the interviews, Herzog talks with an iceberg geologist (Douglas MacAyeal?) who discusses the recent movement he's been noticing of icebergs over the course of the last few years (?) because of global warming. He points to a little blip on the screen - no big deal, an iceberg the size of Ireland, so what? And says, "It'll be really interesting when this baby starts moving North...".

What is that supposed to mean?!?!?!

None of the scientists in Herzog's movie denied global warming - how could they, they're witnessing its effects first hand. Everyone talks about the polar ice caps melting, yet it's hard to grasp that idea, like its some kind of Apocalyptical cant. But if little BLIPS on his screen of ice are the size of IRELAND, and are breaking off and melting as they move up North? Suddenly being swallowed by the ocean becomes something of an eventuality (I'm talking hundreds, if not thousands of years people, so don't go buying Waterworld on blue ray just yet...).

And you know what? That thought is oddly comforting to me. This is what it must feel like to believe in God. I know that whatever damage we have done as a race, whatever species we have pushed and jostled into extinction, whatever lakes and oceans we have sullied and trees and forests we have cut and burned.... One day there will be peace. One day, the planet will take back what we have considered "ours" for so long (insert floods-of-biblical-proportions-mass-death-and-extinction-of-all-humans-plants-and-animals here) and start all over again.

It IS kind of like giving up. But for the girl who used to cut up National Geographics at the age of 5 and paste pictures of tigers and pandas and giraffes in a binder to preserve their memory in the case of their imminent extinction, it's a relief. Maybe we won't succeed our losing battle against global warming, pollution and over crowding. Maybe we can't. But I'm glad knowing that at least, even if everything goes to hell because of our stubborn egoism, that Nature will start again. It will take hundreds of thousands of years, but at least LIFE will go on, even if it isn't ours.

Makes you think, doesn't it. Where did they get the idea of Noah's Ark in the bible, when they didn't even know about polar ice caps and global warming? In all likeliness those men that wrote the bible hadn't even been 100 miles from the town they were born in. How could they have come up with such things? Maybe all that talk of floods and pestilence wasn't describing the past... maybe they were writing of the future.

Idea? Idea.

Soooo after writing my little blog on the changing marriage scene in France, I got to thinking. I propose (haha) for those of you who follow the blog fairly regularly, and who are interested of course, pop me a question (haha last subject was marriage, get it?) on French life. I can then ask around, observe, and post a blog on what I've discovered.
For example: How does food differ in France than in Canada? and then I would probably go on a rant and talk about portions, the fucking crudités, why french people are thin and so on.

I absolutely DON'T want people just asking me questions for the sake of questions. If you're curious about a certain aspect of french culture, shoot. It you want to placate me, just go out and buy me a chocolate bar, don't make me go all Sherlock-Holmesy on the french and sit and type at my computer for no reason.



You can ask your question as a comment on this blog, or email it to me at smvisintini@mta.ca. I will disclose the question but not who asked it when I treat the subject.

It kind of works out that I have a lot of time on my hands when I get to do creative stuff like this.

The Wind Is Turning...

I had a really interesting conversation with one of the girls from my french rugby team last night. She was driving me to the tram and somehow we got to talking about the fact that her partner wanted them to start trying for a baby.

I was kind of shocked at this at first to tell the truth. Not because of the whole baby thing, but more that her boyfriend was the one initiating the whole baby question. I guess part of me just kind of assumed that if the baby wasn't already just a product of a relationship, that it was really the woman/wife/girlfriend's little internal clock that started screaming for a baby. It was so funny too, because she exasperatedly listed off all the reasons why he was the perfect partner ("Il fait la vaisselle, il cuit, il m'offre des petits cadeaux...") and you knew the one black mark against him was that he wanted to have a child with her. The nerve of some men these days...
(photo from http://www.theblogisfound.com/index.cfm?StartRow=61 )

Obviously the next question on my lips was, "Well, are you going to marry him then?". Usually this question is received with one of two reactions;

• a) they get really embarassed and say they-don't-know-because-My-God-they're-too-young-to-be-thinking-of-that!
  
• or b) they get really embarassed and say yes and gush about them.

To my astonishment she just waved the question aside
I'm not for marrying, and neither is he, she says.
I'm just desperately trying to fit this new idea in old fashioned box:
Love = marriage. No marriage = no love.
And then it came to me, "Vous allez vous PACSez* alors?" ("You're going to PACS yourselves then?"). And she was so casual about it, like yeahhh when I get a better job...

It was just.... such a new idea. Normally you hear of older couples or divorcees who have common law marriages because marriage has kind of lost its flair for them, but not young women (pass up the dress and flowers and getting your nails done? Not many young women would turn that down...). It was cool though, to get that kind of idea from a girl my age (well, she's 27, but I thought she was my age at first). I'm pretty sure one of my french teachers is PACSed too, and she has an 18 month old with her partner. It seems like a bit of a growing phenomenon in France, which I love because I always kind of figured France as a bit of an old fashioned, quasi-sexist country (no offense) - and its here that women are breaking away from an old fashioned institution with a history of oppression like marriage. (I'm kind of kidding here but not at the same time. In French you'd say I was saying something in tone that was "ironique").
Considering I just took a whole course on the sociological change of the roles of women in the family setting and the further changes that ensued in the education system, this was kind of cool to hear about. Applying the knowledge to real life, kind of.

Anyway, that's why I'm here I guess, to broaden my mind.

*PACS = Pacte civile de solidarité, basically an improved version of our "common law" marriage back home. Couples who've gotten PACSed share better financial and material rights than if they just stayed an unofficial couple. I think their children also get some degree of legitimacy from the government, though apparently things are still a bit lacking in that department...

"Ma vie est tout a fait fascinante"

I found the funniest french cartoon blog at school today (cultural education = introducing us to french humour, duh).
Here's the url: http://www.penelope-jolicoeur.com/

For those of you that don't speak French, I'm sorry, and its a shame, because I actually burst out laughing in class while reading these, they've been described as a french version of Bridget Jones - which is a kind of humour that has always very much appealed to me. I also like it because a lot of the things she ridicules (the fact that all the girls in Paris dress the same - and they do, or that french people look ridiculous in winter) are true and so very french!!! Here's one of my favorite cartoons (that I've seen so far).
I think I might buy her book "Ma vie est tout a fait fascinante" (a book of cartoons like the one above) because I think it might be fun for the Fam to look at when I come back for Christmas - little introduction to my adopted culture around the kitchen counter (and that's one less book I have to somehow ship home at the end of the year!!!).

I want to make sure that I follow up on stuff like this because yeah, I don't really need another comic book, but last year I NEVER would have gone out of my way to read french comics, and now I think they're the shit and have her blog bookmarked on my computer (and am sooo checking it instead of doing work as per usual). Its these little details that people so often forget about during big trips like this, the way your perspective and appreciation for different things changes. I want to try and reward these little interests so that when I'm back in Canada I don't revert back to boring anglophone (sorry! no offense meant to anglophones, but being able to speak French but never reading or listening to anything in french is kind of like being able to skip but trudging everywhere instead).

Damn it I had a whole bunch of things I wanted to talk about but this week I've kind of been a bit of a stress case since I was studying and agonizing over the 7 exams I had to write. As per usual I'm pretty sure I aced the majority despite the crippling worry, except for my "real" french university course because I finished before everyone else which means one of two things: a) I am a genius and above the mere mortals that are the French
b) I handed in a pathetic version of what was supposed to be an essay, and as such will probably scrape the grade if at all.

Whateverrrrr. Found out the average mark most french students expect (and are happy to receive) is a 10 or a 12 out of 20. I have reassessed my expectations and have decided to be happy with anything 14 and up (classified as "intello", usually the kind of kids that shut themselves in their rooms hours and hours on end to study.... yay low expectations and being a foreign studentttt!!!). Don't get me wrong, blah blah blah I like getting good grades and I take my education seriously, but man is it nice not to have to bust your ass (too much, I studied a lot this week, though it was no where near back home with the 7hr library stints) for good marks.

I'm typing a lot today and saying very little. I think I'm exhuming a bit of the crazy that's been broiling in me after shutting myself in my room for a few days...

St. Nicolas vs. Santa Claus

I knew I was in France for a good reason. I finally discovered the origins of Santa Claus. This is the transcript of a really cool video we watched in class. For those of you who can speak french it might be an interesting site to check out: Karambolage. They explain little cultural details like the "biz" and other things with funny collage-like videos.

For those of you that can't speak French, scroll to the bottom where I will rehash this in English. French speakers, don't cheat, its good to practice your written comprehension...

"Le 6 décembre, c’est la Saint Nicolas, Nikolaustag en allemand. Quand j’étais enfant, j’attendais ce jour avec impatience, car c’est un jour très particulier pour tous les petits allemands. Les petits Français ne connaissent pas sa signification, sauf peut-être certains enfants au nord de la France. Le soir du 5 décembre on prend une chaussure - si on est malin on prend une grande botte - et on la met devant la porte d’entrée. Le lendemain, miracle, la chaussure déborde de clémentines, de noix et de chocolats ! Mais ça vient d’où? Des voisins? Des parents? Mais non! Saint Nicolas, est passé dans la nuit ! A quoi il ressemble ? Eh bien, il ressemble à s’y méprendre à un Père Noël ! Mais attention, Saint Nicolas et le père Noël ne sont pas une seule et même personne ! Écoutez bien :
Saint Nicolas vécut au 4è siècle, à Myra, dans la Turquie actuelle. C’était un évêque. On dit de lui qu’il protégeait les enfants et les veuves et qu’il faisait plein de miracles. Il est mort un 6 décembre et il devient le patron des marins, des commerçants, des boulangers, des bouchers, des tailleurs, des tisserands, des voyageurs, des prisonniers, des avocats, des notaires, des prêteurs sur gage, des mendiants et surtout des enfants ! Et depuis le 14ème siècle, la coutume veut que ce 6 décembre Saint Nicolas offre des cadeaux aux enfants. Mais cette jolie tradition déplaît au réformateur Martin Luther, qui remet en question la légitimité des saints. Alors, pour diminuer l’importance de Saint Nicolas, les protestants déplacent le jour des cadeaux du 6 au 25 décembre, jour de Noël, et inventent un nouveau personnage qui apporte les cadeaux : le Christkind.

Le Christkind allemand, littéralement le Christ enfant, est un concept
plutôt étrange. Un curieux mélange entre un petit Jésus et une petite fille ou un petit ange blond, vêtu d’une longue robe blanche, avec des ailes. Mais ne croyez pas que Saint Nicolas se laisse faire ! Il continue à faire sa ronde le 6 décembre, seulement, il dépose des cadeaux plus petits. Lorsque les premiers colons néerlandais arrivent aux Etats-Unis, ils amènent dans leur bagages Saint Nicolas, qui s’appelle chez eux Sinterklaas. Sinterclaas se transforme petit à petit en Santa Claus, il perd ses attributs religieux et s’équipe de plusieurs rennes pour tirer sa luge. Au milieu du 19è siècle, un dessinateur d’origine allemande, Thomas Nast, lui donne son air rondouillet et ses habits rouges.

En 1932, le fabricant de Coca Cola veut prouver qu’on peut boire du Coca Cola même en hiver. Il fait alors poser, pour sa rituelle campagne d’affichage de Noël, un gros Santa Claus jovial, aux joues rouges, avec une bouteille de Coca Cola à la main ! La force de frappe de Coca Cola fait le reste et le personnage publicitaire fait le tour du monde et finalement débarque en Europe. Ce papy rondouillard en manteau rouge s’appelle désormais « Père Noël » en France, "Weihnachtsmann" en Allemagne.

Alors si vous avez bien suivi, vous avez compris que cet omniprésent père Noël tout rouge, made in USA, a en fait volé la vedette à son propre père, le pauvre Saint Nicolas. Une vraie histoire oedipienne.
Texte : Nikola Obermann
Image : Christine Gensheimer & Timo Katz"

(Karambolage. Arte. . Dec. 8, 2008. )

Okay so here's how it goes:
In Germany (though some regions of France practice it too), the 6th of December is the "Jour St. Nicolas" and they eat little bread men like mine, and the night before kids put there shoes in front of the door and wake up to find little chocolates and clementines inside the next day (basic stocking concept).
The origin of this tradition goes way back to the 4th century, when Nicolas actually "lived". He was this awesome person that took care of children and widows and performed miracles, etc, etc. Died on the 6th of December, and became the patron Saint of all sorts of different trades, but also of children. So every 5th, children would put out their boots and would find little goodies from St. Nicolas.
Martin Luther questioned the legitimacy of these Saints, and to lessen St. Nicolas' importance, changed the gift giving date to the 25th of December, and the bearer became the "Christkind", a kind of flying, angel-Jesus in a white dress. People weren't too taken with this whole idea so the 6th and the idea of St. Nicolas remained (though apparently he gave smaller presents, as to be less conspicuous).
Thennnnnn with the colonies in America, the Netherlanders brought the same idea, but he was called "Sinterklaas" - which quickly became "Sant Claus" and lost pretty much all religious signficance. They also came to think of him as being tugged around in his sleigh by reindeers.
Then during the 19th century a German artist, Thomas Nast, drew the first image of Santa Claus as a big jolly man dressed in red. The image stuck with the Coca Cola adds of 1932 in which Santa is shown drinking a bottle of Cola (they wanted to advertise that you could still drink it in the winter).
Isn't that cool? I thought it used to be all about Jesus and in the past like, 100 years as we became mindless consumers someone just kind of threw the idea at us. Pah!!! Hallmark can go to hell, Santa wasn't a ploy to control our materialism!!!


... Any way I ate a little St. Nicolas with "pepites" today. He was tasty.

Christmas Market

24 Things I've Learned While in France

1. Baguette is one of the messiest breads ever. I find crumbs everywhere. All the time.
2. KD is a wonderful food, but doesn't work so well with farfalle pasta (though you do get little nooks of pure cheese which are a tasty surprise).
3. Avoiding eye contact is one of France's greatest secrets to not getting hassled.
4. Drinking someone else's alcohol at a party is acceptable, even encouraged.
5. High heels and cobble stones don't mix.
6. Buying lots of the same item at the market usually gets you some kind of discount.
7. English movies playing at a french theater are usually still in English, only with subtitles.
8. You have to ask for a "satchet" when buying groceries, otherwise you have to magically
balance/carry everything home.
9. Baguette gets stale after about 8hrs.
10. Nutella and pasta are stock, must-always-have-on-hand items.


See anything familiar in this photo?




11. You're not allowed to hand in assignments in any colour other than blue.
12. The lines on lined paper are ridiculously small and impossible to write on neatly.
13. The lined paper also has four holes instead of three.
14. When french people hear you're canadian, they automatically ask you if you're from Quebec.
15. Buying tram tickets is for suckers.
16. When travelling on the tram without a ticket, look out for "controlleurs" or you get fined 20 euros.



Look again!


17. Just because there weren't any "controlleurs" on the tram when you got on, doesn't mean they won't come on at the next stop.
18. When people ask you for money, don't pretend you can only speak English, because they can usually speak English too.


19. Volaille ≠ bird. Volaille = liver = disgusting = like eating hardened intestines with the poop still inside. Never again.
20. A scarf is a necessary accesory for any outfit.
21. Political correctness is an unknown concept.
22. Whoever said the portions were smaller were mostly talking about coffee. Itttty bitty little cups...
23. Don't buy your general groceries at the local epiceries. They practically rob you. (A box 20 stale Twinings tea bags cost me 4,00 euros).
24. Though outdated, mail is one of the most beautiful inventions in the world.

Bonus: 25. France is gorgeous. But there's no place like home.

This guy is actually like.... 6'5 and wearing something that looks out of a Sinbad movie. I was shocked at first at how high he could sing. It wasn't a recording or anything either. And his voice was a normal man's voice when he talked...

I'm a Stupid, Reckless Idiot

I did one of the dumbest, scariest things last night.

Before I get into the whole thing, I just wanted to remind all of you that this blog is a way for you guys to get a glimpse of what my life is like here, and that I refuse to censor myself just because its probably not what you want to hear. Life isn't always about being smart. I was an idiot last night, but I have learned from my mistake and will NEVER do it again.

I'm pissed off that I was dumb enough to do it. But I don't want to hear about it, because I've already learned my lesson (the hard, life-slaps-you-in-the-face way).

I'm letting you into my life, and I never said that I was going to be a genius the whole time.

I walked home last night alone.
This normally wouldn't be a big deal, except that I was: drunk, 1hr away from home, walking through the sketchier part of Strasbourg, and it was 12:30 in the morning.

There is of course, an explanation (though no excuse). I was at my friend Hiram's place for his Birthday party. It was getting late and I wanted to grab the last tram from Kibitzeneau and get home, because though Hiram offered to let me sleep at his place (easy, easy, he's gay), I didn't want to wake up across town feeling disgusting and have to rush home to start studying.

I got to the station around 12:00, and the outgoing trams were done for the night (damn them). Normally there's a night bus that runs until 3am once the trams stop running, so I tried to figure out which bus stop was the one for the night bus heading out in my direction, but all of the schedules said they finished running at 11:00. Since there were still trams running in the other direction, I figured I was just at one of the outskirting stations, and that the next few tram stations would probably be running.

So I followed the tracks instead of doing what I should have - gone back to Hiram's and stayed the night. The next station didn't have any trams running, but I figured I might as well keep going, and that I would come upon one soon.

I was a little nervous at this point, because the streets were deserted and there were alot of apartment buildings and very few stores - I couldn't even call for a cab because my cell was out of credit and nothing was open.

Then as I was walking I wanted to pee my pants because in a park/foresty area to my right I spotted the most dangerous thing at night: 2 guys, drinking, dressed like wankers (aka bad guys). I could have been raped. I wouldn't even have been able to run away. They could have so easily just dragged me into the park, and even if people heard me screaming they might not have done anything. It was like a moment teetering on the edge of disaster, as I walked by (it was too late to cross the street by the time I'd spotted them), one of them said, "Salut." (then, seing as I didn't respond) "Il n'y a pas de mal de nous donner un petit salut?" ("There's no harm in a little hello?") in this coaxing, menacing voice. I wanted to run, but I figured that might just spur them on. So I kept walking without saying anything, and Thank God, they didn't follow me.

I wanted to cry, I wanted to run all the way home, but I was worried that I would draw attention to myself, or that I would be out of breath if I really did have to outrun somebody. It was the scariest hour of my life. Every station was empty, no trams, no fucking buses. When I finally got to Etoile Bourse (familiar territory) I wanted to just collapse in a little heap of hyperventilation and tears. I got home at 1am, and as I curled up in a little ball in my bed, fully aware of my own folly and luck (that I wasn't raped, robbed, beaten or killed) I thanked whoever/whatever it was that got me home in one piece.

This whole thing made me realize how much I love my neighbourhood. At night there are always tons of people in the street, lights blazing, this place is alive. Walking home at 12pm here is as safe as at 4 o'clock in the afternoon (3 am would be a different story of course, but last night I was coming home relatively early for Strasbourg inner-city night life standards). The neighbourhood I walked through last night was deserted, dark, dead.

My parents always warned me about walking around at night, and I've never really listened. The town I go to school in is safe any time of day or night, and I have stubornly maintained that my neighbourhood in my home town is the same. Last night was the first time I've ever really come face to face with the idea that I'm not safe wherever I am. So naive.

Sociologie de la famille et de l'ecole

Was kind of laughing to myself in my sociology class because our prof was lecturing on "l'échec scolaire" (student failure). Here's why I was chuckled:

The 2hr exam for this class (which is an essay - best part: he gives two questions to choose from, one from the endless list of readings that is apparently expected of students, the other from class. So basically I have to hope the dice roll in my favour and that I understand the question the day of the exam). This is a real-deal third year french university course, so you can kind of understand my trepidation (while considering my dilemma today I came to the conclusion that being in a third year French university course -for which you have no background, of course!- is like developping a learning disorder overnight.

I know, I know, you're wondering ("Why did she say she was laughing again..?") and yes, I must be slightly insane to find this whole situation funny, but could you imagine if the essay question turned out to be something about why students fail..??? What a depressing way to go out, explaining the very reason for your own demise... ("non-maitrise de la langue ou l'enfant est scolarisé" - actually from my notes, along with physical and mental handicaps and others).

It'll be fine though, I'm not too worried (read = can still sleep at night). Some of the other exams seem like they're going to be a joke, so I'm pretty relieved. Our history teacher said he would give us a photo (his example, Kennedy pointing at a map of Cuba) and we would have to answer 4 questions based on that photo.
THAT'S THE EXAM. Total dream considering I have 9 of these stupid things to write in two weeks, and I'll still be going to some of my classes while writing half of them..!!!

Regardless, I told the team that I wouldn't be able to play this weekend because I'd be studying. My coach was starting to bust my chops but I just smiled at him guilelessly and told him that if I failed I wouldn't be allowed to stay in France. For the first time he had nothing to say. It's funny to see a French version of R (rugby coach from two summers ago). He doesn't have quite as colourful a vocabulary (or maybe I don't pick up on all of it being that its in French and all that) as Robbie-one-ball, though.

The buying of Christmas presents is almost all wrapped up (no pun int- no I'm lying, definitely pun intended), though I have yet to remember to go to the Christmas markets with my CAMERA. Must MUST take pictures before I go.

The Chandelier Ballroom: Mystery Unveiled!

Some of you might have been wondering what the "Chandelier Ballroom" is, and why I chose it for my blog name.

Well, here it is:

The Chandelier Ballroom part of the Lechuguilla Cave, located in New Mexico. Lechugilla is the fifth longest cave in the world, and the deepest cave (to be found so far) in the United States (thank you Wikipedia).

"Reaching down from the ceiling like giant talons, the "chandeliers" of the Chandelier Ballroom are stalactites of selenite up to 20 feet long. These fragile crystals grow when water bearing dissolved gypsum drips through cave ceilings and evaporates. Lechuguilla's gypsum chandeliers are thought to be the world's largest." (http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/caves/jewe_05.html)

If you're interested there is some amazing footage of the Chandelier Ballroom in the BBC documentary "Planet Earth". As a matter a fact it might be the only footage ever to be taken, as it took the crew from Planet Earth two years to get permission to film there, and from the video I got the impression that the cave was going to be permanently closed to the public in order to preserve the extremely fragile crystal formations.

Anyway I guess I chose that as the title for my blog because it was just totally fascinating that there was this... AMAZING structure underground, that you can only get to after 10 days of hiking through the cave. Something beautiful forming completely naturally in the bowels of the earth, and at the same time that it was given such a frivolous name, even though its scary and dark down there and if you got lost or ran out of light you would probably die.

Its embarrassing to admit but I guess when I first started the blog it was like... putting pieces of myself on display for everyone to see. Those pieces might shine, or they might be inherently dark, but they still make up what and who you are. So even though this blog is just a travel journal, its me letting any/all of you see into me.

I like the idea that we all have dark inside, it just takes a few brave souls to find that place full of sparklies in the deep.

Maison de l'amerique latine and Les Miss

Friday night was wicked!!! Our Mexican friend H had a bunch of us over for some home cooked Mexican food, and it was DELICIOUS. Mexican rice and two tortillas, one with meat, cheese and some kind of gravy, the other was a little drier with peas and carrots and ground beef, washed down with some beer. It was really nice because H invited a bunch of his flat mates to the dinner, so there were twelve of us packed around the kitchen table, laughing, smoking and drinking beer (I wasn't smoking, don't worry) while H bustled about in his cute little apron getting everything ready.

Then a friend of mine had invited us to the Maison de l'amerique latine, so we headed out on the tram. The Maison turned out to be this lost little thing behind a grated door next to a gay bar. We walked in and it was this tiny room filled with people smoking and dancing the salsa to the music blaring from some unknown origin.

A few of my friends from Puerto Rico collectively taught me to dance the salsa, as we slugged back 2 euro beers. My favorite part of the night though, was when this guy busted out his flute when the music had turned off for a few moments, and everyone started stomping and clapping to the flute and dancing.

It was one of the most genuine and fun nights I've had so far in Strasbourg.


Then today we headed out at 8:15 to Champagnole, where the Miss vs. Censeau game was held. It took 4hrs to get there (not all that far from Dijon), so I spent most of my Sunday in the "mini-bus". We lost miserably 0-40, but I still had a good time regardless, as it was my first entire game playing prop, and I felt that I did pretty well considering the prop opposite of me weighed in easily at 200 lbs.
(I'm the one lifting Boubou from behind... Boubou is the jumper)

I loved the French tradition afterwards, because though we didn't have a chug off or buy each other beers, the hosting team had set up this huge spred of cake, dried sausage, cheese, baguette, quiche, pasta salad, yogurt, you name it. So we mowed down on that for a while and the feasting continued in the "mini-bus" as people pulled out bags of chips that I hadn't even seen on the way up, and home made madeleines and brioche. Needless to say I pigged out.

I've noticed that France (or maybe Europe) has this huge sharing culture that is pretty much absent in Canada. As if in North America we've become so individualized that everyone kind of looks out for themselves, whereas here people share everything, from buying you drinks at the bar to eating that last mouthful of food on your plate, or (this actually happened) bringing baguette and dried sausage and a few bottles of the Beaujolais Nouveau to share amongst your team mates after a practice. I like it, and I really hope that when I go back to Canada (for good) that that part doesn't go away - though it's a lot less give and take in Canada, the equilibrium would be off. We'll see, maybe I'll start a revolution.

My Grades

So far, here's where I stand. These are the results of my partial examinations.

Compréhension orale: 17
Expression a l'orale: 16
Compréhension écrite: 13
Expression écrite: 14,5

These are marks out of 20, but not to be confused with the American grading system (where 15 out of 20 is 75%). In France it goes like this:

18-20: basically impossible (Wikipedia says, "Congratulations")
16-17: very good (tres bien: TB)
14-15: good (bien: B)
12-13: satisfactory (assez bien: AB)
10-11: pass (passable)
0-9: fail (insuffisant)

I basically need all AB's to get all the credits from this year. I know guys, the comprehension ecrite is looking a little low - but don't worry people!!! It was only because I read the text before reading the questions and therefore didn't have enough time to answer them all before running out of time. Je vais mieux gerer mon temps la prochaine fois.

Home

This week almost every night I've dreamt that either I was home or that I was for some unexplainable reason my family was in France with me.

I'd like to think that I've mastered the home sickness that reduced me to a blubbering pile of jelly that first week in Strasbourg, but apparently my subconscious is rearing its head with the approach of Christmas - and home.

What is home sickness anyway? In French they call it, "avoir le mal du pays" (literally "pain for your country") and I never really understood in movies why people sometimes would rather stay with their people than be with the one they loved or explore a whole new world. I kind of get it now, but its too hard to explain... like being completely comfortable in your own skin, that's what being in Canada for me is like. I think no matter how long I was here, I would always feel like an outsider, constantly comparing what's better and worse in this country compared to my own.

And what is missing people? At first I thought that missing people was merely the fear that they (or you) would change while you were gone. Maybe there is that, but maybe its missing the comfort of being with people who've known you forever. That feeling of perfect happiness in your own skin.

When we were at Vimy they have a line that runs through the path to the monument, the divide between French and Canadian soil. I savoured the moment before stepping over. And though it was just as cold and miserable outside, though logically I knew the divide was merely a formality between governments and on a piece of paper, for some reason standing on Canadian soil was comforting for me. Like standing on a little piece of home.

I never believed in that stuff before. How can you miss an entire country? But being in France has made me a patriot. I have never felt more like a Canadian than I have this year in Europe. It has grown from a nationality to an identity.

France vs. the Pacific Islanders

Last weekend I went to the rugby match with a few girls from my french team

(they're "my" team now because people shove me and kick me in the back of my legs to make me fall a bit between drills, which is - as I have observed - an expression of affection on this team. Though I am somewhat more used to the ruffling of hair or the odd clap on the back, I have whole heartedly embraced this form of endearment, and therefore consider myself part of "l'equipe".)

between the French rugby team and the Pacific Islanders (Samoa, Fidji and Tonga) at the Stade Bonal in Sochaux (at least, that's where I think the stade was, because I really didn't pay attention as we drove up in the Miss's "mini-bus").

France won with a final score of 42 - 17 (I had to look that up).

Highlights of the game:

• a player from the Pacific Islanders was red carded for being clumsy and swinging his arm while running, effectively clothes-lining and knocking unconscious one of the French players (whether it was intentional or just plain clumsy/stupid is arguable)
• crowd went nuts when another clumsy Islander elbowed a French player in the eye while they were both jumping up to catch a kick (I was glad that he wasn't carded because in the slow motion you could see they just weren't giving each other enough personal space and the Islander was bigger so it turned out to be an inevitability really...)
• Sebastien Chabal was subbed on. Dubbed "l'homme des cavernes" ("the cave man") because of his beard and long hair, he's been a French favorite since the World Cup. I loved him because he's a lock and his first real play on the field was to dump tackle the Islander's #8 at like 70 km/hr.(I love this photo because even though Chabal looks like he's going to eat it, you know the baby's just like "Weeee!!!")
  

Even though he's this big name in the French rugby world, I was kind of bemused at his playing style. The guy would mostly saunter around the field while the other young, clean shaven members of his team zipped around. Then he'd arrive, basically at the last minute, for a ruck, sweep it clean and the cycle would continue again. Then every once and a while he would smoke someone, as if he'd been building up the energy during all of that sauntering.

Anyway seemed like my kind of game. I just have to learn to dump tackle Chabal style.

All that to say that my first professional rugby match was AWESOME and really fun to watch and that I'm excited for my licence to come in so I can play and see what "les meufs" in France are made of (verlan for "les femmes" or ladies/women/girls whatever).

Les Rugbymans: My Bungles with Rugby in the French Language

Let's face it, rugby is kind of hard to understand even when you're talking in English if you don't know the lingo. It kind of comes with it's own side language.
This post is a summary of the amusing French version of Rugby-lingo that I've been picking up over the past few weeks...
.....and my team back HOME thought I was a space cadet. Les Miss must think I was dropped numerous times as a small child.


Rugby English/French Dictionnary:
Positions
"Les avants"

• (1,3)Prop = "pilier"
• (2) Hooker = "talonneur" (I initially thought they were talking about the 8 man, and was thoroughly confused for about two practices...)
  
• (4,5) Lock = "deuxième ligne" (literally "second row"... boring... I wish my position was something cool like "massacreur" or something)

I hadn't really learned what the flankers or eight man are really called, but I cheated and looked on wikipedia, so I guess I'll tell you (its uber confusing).

• (6,7) Flanker = "troisieme ligne en aile" ("third row on the wing" which is really long to say!!!)
• (8) man = "troisième ligne centre" (you guessed it, "third row centre")

The backs is even WORSE. They're called "les arrieres" or "les gazelles" (which is an imagery I very much enjoy).

• (9) Scrum half = "demi de melee" (a brutal and literal word for word translation of "scrum half", god french can be so awkward sometimes...)
• (10) Fly half = "demi d'ouverture" (I would NEVER have guessed this, and didn't know that that's what it was called until just now, you can imagine how hectic practice can be when they're yelling shit like this)

Then it's just "les centres" (basically inside and outside center), "les ailliers" (wingers) and the simplest of all "arriere" (fullback).

Everyday Terminology
I'll probably add to this as my vocabulary grows, and as I come across more amusing and confusing ways of saying regular things.

For example:
Scrum translates into "melee" which for me brings to mind scirmishes and battle, which is, I guess, a pretty cool way to look at it.

In the scrum, "One, two, three, DRIVE!!!" becomes, "Un, deux, trois, FLEXION!!!". Maybe its just me, but even when you translate it just isn't the same.

Or, "Clear the ruck!!!" becomes "Deblaye-le les filles!!!", a verb I usually associated with shoveling.

"Jump on the ball!" becomes "Avale le ballon!" ("swallow" the ball).

Paris

So this is part two of my out of order breakdown of what I did for the long weekend. Just so we don't get confused, these are the dates:

Sunday, November 9, 2008:
Catch the train to Paris, am reunited with Coralie for the first time since our highschool exchange 5 yrs ago. She shows me most of the big sites of Paris in a whirlwind tour. We crash at the apartment at 6pm, utterly exhausted.

I watch a tv show on bridge jumpers in a small Mediterranean city. My first time watching tv in months - justified it to myself because it was at least in french. Started watching "The Never Ending Story" in french too, but was too tired, and realized that when you aren't 9, sometimes the unveiling of the plot seems like it's taking forever... which is I guess kind of fitting, considering the title of the movie...


What I saw that day:
**I had like no batteries for my camera that day, so unfortunately not a whole lot of photos

L'Arc de Triomphe (from a distance)
le Grand and Petit Palais
Quai d'Orsay
Musee d'Orsay
the Eiffel Tower
Centre Pompidou
the Louvre
la Cathedrale Notre Dame
Shakespeare & Co
the Latin District
Hotel de Ville

It was cool to see all that stuff, but I'm definitely glad that I'm going back (for sure) at the end of the year with Granpa, because I'd love to actually go into the Musee d'Orsay and la Cathedrale Notre Dame, and take my time learning about the historical meaning of the buildings like I did in Munich, and see what I missed on my initial race through Paris.

Monday, November 10, 2008:
Coralie had class this day, and I was own my own. It was kind of nice to do everything at my own pace. I spent most of the day at the Louvre. I spent basically my whole visit in the painting sections. My favorite was the "Peintures francaises grands formats", where the canvases towered over you, sometimes as tall as a story. I got to see all the paintings from my Art History class, and it was so cool. I bought a really nice book at the gift shop - Louvre: 7 siecles de peinture. I could have gotten it in English, but getting the french version seemed more fitting. Like it would always remind me of my year on exchange.

Was pretty wiped when I got back, though really proud of myself because I successfully got from Coralie's apartment in the 11e arrondissment to the Louvre (1er arrondissment?) through the metro system without getting lost!!! Felt really cool to be in control like that even though I'd only been in the city for a day.

Anyway we hung around the apartment for a while resting, haha, then headed out to Montmarte that night for dinner (I took her out to thank her for putting me up). Saw Sacre Coeur and Montmarte, then we went to Pigalle so I could find the cafe that the movie Amelie was filmed at. Was pretty interesting to walk through the red light district of Paris at night. Kind of like what I image Las Vegas must look like except instead of flashing lights advertising casino's they're neon signs for strip clubs.