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).