Arras, Vimy (and a stopover in Paris) – Nov. 22-26

Thursday, November 22

I arrived back home from my volleyball games around 11pm and I checked the internet one more time to make sure the SNCF strike was not going to affect the trains I was planning on taking to get to Arras the next morning. I turned down the invitation of some friends on my floor to go to a bar downtown, explaining to them that I needed to shower and pack my bag for the train that I'm taking at 5:30 in the morning.

I took my time.

At 2 in the morning, Rachael and Malissa get back from the bar and come knock on my door. I’m still up, and since I tell them that I was planning on getting up at 4am anyway, they decide I don’t need to sleep and that they’ll keep me awake with stories from the bar until I have to leave for the bus in a few hours.


Friday, November 23

At 4:30 in the morning, I grabbed my bike and headed to the bus station in the dark and in the rain--one of the only rainy days Aix has seen this year. I got to the train station and had to wait outside in the dark, freezing cold, wind, and rain for a seemingly very long ten minutes because the station doesn’t open until 5:10. Once inside, I couldn't buy my ticket either because the machines don’t accept Canadian visa cards. I decided I'd buy it from the man on the train, but knowing it'll be a little more expensive. Rats.

I heaved my bike onto the train and headed to find the controller. “Sorry miss, bikes aren’t allowed on the TGV’s. We’ll have to kick you and the bike, or just the bike, off at the next stop,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. I let out a sigh despairingly, and explained that on all the trains I’ve been in, there has been a room or an area to place bikes so they’re not in the way or a security hazard to passengers. Apparently, that’s not the case for TGVs. He notices my accent, asks me where I’m from and explains to me that bikes should usually be dismantled and put in a special bag before coming on the TGV, but that he won’t fine me the 45€ this time. I love being Canadian. I still hadn't bought my ticket, but he said he’ll let me do that later.

After finding a really awkward between-car seat, and attempting to contort my bike into a position that will not be in the way of the aisle, the controller came back to me with a giant kit of some sort in his hands and proceeded to ask me if I know first aid. It was 5:50am, and with the controller looking over my shoulder, I was cleaning, disinfecting, and steri-stripping a vertical gash on the forehead of a guy about my age who had walked into the train door as it was closing. Brilliant. After he’s all patched up, he invited me to coffee as “the least he can do for helping him”. In the middle of my explanation that I should really stay seated with my bike, the controller chimed in with “oh no, it’s okay, I’ll watch your bike in the mean time.” Fan-freaking-tastic. Small talk and hot chocolate on a train going 300km/h at 6 in the morning. Awkward.

Three hours later, I arrived in Paris and needed to change train stations. Since the strike was going on with the metros even, I decided to hop on my bike, and explore a bit on my way to the other station (while also looking for a bike store to buy one of those bloody bags I supposedly need to hop on another TGV). The one-hour TGV I took from Paris to Arras did indeed have a place at the very end of the train where I could put my bike safely. I made it to Arras, hopped on my bike, and explored the city while waiting for the Vimy guides to get off work so I could meet them at their place. It got dark and cold really fast. Makes me happy that I’m living in the South. I had an awesome night laughing and catching up with friends from the Hill in Ottawa.



Saturday, November 24

Vanessa didn't work today, so we woke up and headed to the massive market they have in the city. They have EVERYTHING—from clothes, to fruits and veggies, to 3-feet wide pans of paella, to live chickens and rabbits.


We went home, ate lunch, and relaxed a bit. Muqing and Laura (the Italian girl who came with her when she stayed with me) showed up with one of their friends. They’re studying in Lille—about half an hour away. They headed to the Vimy site, but I decided to go the next day, on a Sunday, when everything else is closed and all of the guides are working. However, when I discovered that Brie, another guide, and her brother were driving out there with the car he rented, I took advantage of the ride, but only had time for Colleen’s guided tour of the tunnels before the site closed for the day. Really interesting stuff.




After inviting all the guides, even those from the other house, to the crêpe night I was preparing as a thank-you for letting me stay with them, I picked up the supplies on the way back. I got started right away, and by the time I was done the first batch, there were already double the amount of people in the house. After finishing the second batch, more people had showed up, and after the third batch, Jean-Michel helps me make even more. It was delicious, and fun. With all the guides, security, brothers, boyfriends, friends, there were maybe just over twenty people. We had nutella, lemon, sugar, cinnamon crisped apples, cheese, and even peanut butter (which the guides had gotten from some of the veterans who stop by the site, because peanut butter is not something you find in France)!! We were all stuffed full of crêpes by the end of the night, and so playing airplane, games of risk, and seated chatting ensued.



Sunday, November 25

After sleeping in a bit in the quiet house, I hopped on my bike and rode the 15km (uphill and against the crazy wind) to the site. This time I actually made it to the monument.


It’s pretty impressive—much more so than the postcards or pictures I’ve seen. The explanations were even more interesting, and like most monuments, not a single detail was left out.



“On a clear day, you can see all the way to Belgium.”

After spending quite a bit of time in the freezing wind outside, we headed back to the Welcome Centre (which I was surprised to learn was about a 20-minute walk from the actual monument). Since every one of the guides works on Sundays, there are enough of them to cover when a couple of them go do some ongoing training. This just happened to be one of those ongoing training weekends, and Vanessa even managed to convince their boss to let me tag along. It was fantastic. Being on bike doesn’t get you too far when you’re in the middle of nowhere! We went to Mont St-Eloi to see the ruins of a cathedral, a church, and the cemetery from which the Unknown Soldier at the War Memorial in Ottawa was taken.




We returned to Vimy, and I took off on my bike to dry to beat the dark back to the guide house. The 15 km went much smoother on the downhill. The evening was spent eating pizza, fries, and flan, and watching a good hour of movie previews before deciding to watch an actual movie then head to bed. It’s only been three months since I’ve been here, but I didn’t recognize a single movie that was coming out in North America! I also haven’t watched TV since then, so it’s understandable.


Monday, November 26

‘Twas another day full of trains and chaos! I woke up, having said most of my goodbyes and thank yous the night before, but I said goodbye to Vanessa who had the day off, and left to grab my bike from in front of the house and head to the train station. When I saw my bike, it was still attached three times to the pole (I have the two locks that came with the bike, and my lock that I brought with me), but something didn't seem right. It looked more and more suspicious as I got closer, and then I realized that something was very wrong. There were spokes that were loose, some even kicked in, the piece that enables the front light to work had been completely contorted and bent beyond belief. The front brakes were messed up and the back brake wheel had been severely dented. The splash-guard was deformed so that it rubs against the wheel and makes a weird friction noise, and plastic around some of the wires was cut and the one thing that most affected the usefulness of the bike was the speed changer attached to the back wheel had been absolutely destroyed. Therefore, no matter how hard I pedal, there’s no resistance (unless I’m going up a huge hill) and I don’t move very far very fast. That’s kind of the purpose of having a bike.

I had a train to catch, so I didn't have time to deal with the bike problems then, but I know that now, on top of the convincing I’ll have to do to get my bike on the TGV’s back to Aix, I’ll still need to fix this bike. I almost cried, the damage was so bad. The whole day and even now, I wonder what on earth inspires people to see a bike and absolutely kick the crap out of it?! That is not a normal reaction. It’s not a very nice reaction. You have to be one stupid idiot to see a bike and think, “gee, that’s not mine, but I think I’m going to kick, punch, bend and distort everything I possibly can.”

I got in trouble again on the second TGV from Paris to Aix for having the bike with me. I played stupid again (well, the first time I didn’t PLAY stupid, I actually was—I didn’t know!). When the controller asked me if it was my bike, asked to speak with me outside the car, and then asked where I was from, he said to just sit down for now, and he’d come back to deal with it. I had a feeling he wouldn’t be back… and he wasn’t. I guess I could consider that part of my day “luck”--even though my bike looks like it was in a demolition derby. I was so thankful. Other than the hassles with the bike (I really wish I had just left it at home… but oh well, I know now for the next time), it was an awesome trip. I had a lot of fun catching up with fellow Canadians and seeing the Vimy site, and the city of Arras. I even got to see Notre Dame all done up for Christmas on the way back!

Madrid (November 8 – 11th)

This weekend was an interesting and eventful one. I went to Madrid, and it was pretty good. I ate a ton of good food and explored the city a bit. My Spanish was pretty rusty, but it slowly comes back to you… especially when you’re forced to get yourself out of a sticky situation! What sticky situation, you ask? Well, in a nutshell: We missed our flight back. We shelled out big bucks to fly back the day after.

For the more detailed version, read on…

Thursday, November 8th

This trip was planned with Ben, the hardcore Quebecer. We checked in at the airport and even got priority boarding (to not have to play the fight-for-the-best-seat game on the plane) because we only had a backpack each. On the plane, we met a guy our age from Marseille, Olivier, who was on his way to visit his girlfriend in Madrid. They met while on exchange. When we arrived in Madrid, we took the metro downtown and Olivier showed us this great little place to get these mini-sandwiches with absolutely ANYTHING in them, and so the three of us sat to eat a while before Olivier needed to leave to meet his girlfriend. Smoked salmon + Spanish cheese = delicious! White chocolate + cranberry jam = most AMAZING thing that will ever happen to your taste buds!!!

Food and how you eat it will tell you a huge amount about a culture. The fact that we all ordered separately, but all our food came on the same plate surrounding a pile of “patatas fritas”, shows you how close everyone is and how much of a communal thing eating actually is in Spain!

We wandered a little on our way to find out hostel and dropped off our bags. MADhostel (in the picture) is a nice place: very clean, rooms of four, sheets, towels, massive individual lockers that are activated by this watch-like bracelet that you wear that also gives you access to the hostel and the common room (tv, pool table, sofas and a bar).

There was a girl from Alberta in our room and a guy from New Zealand. The girl had been travelling for 3 months already, and I guess it had caught up to her because she was sicker than a dog. Couldn’t even sit up without getting nauseous. My thoughts at the time: Poor girl. She better not be contagious. (I don't remember in which order they came to me.)

We headed to el Parque del Bueno Retiro, a 162-acre park that features botanical gardens, many rollerbladers, many couples, and even a place where couples, friends, and fathers and daughters could rent small rowboats to paddle about on the enormous pond bordered by a massive monument. It was quite charming.



As it was already dark when we finished wandering around, we headed to eat a “snack" since people in Spain don’t eat dinner until around 10 or 11pm. We went to what appeared to be a Spanish chain restaurant called “El Museo del jamón”: The Ham Museum! It was great though, because it was a very non-touristy place and no one spoke a lick of English. All the locals were standing around the bar, there were some chest-height tables on one side, so everyone ate while standing. We ordered some jamón (obviously) and some calamari. Ben’s glass of beer cost him €0.80 (MORE expensive than a glass of water)!

Back at the hostel, we had a nap before heading out to eat at 11pm. We wandered in search of a good tapas place (preferably another place with no tourists). It was delicious. Croquettas are mouth-watering fried balls of goodness filled with cheese and ham! The sangria was also nice.


Friday, November 9th

Ben, being the art history major, insisted on visiting the Prado. Since I had heard that it gives the Louvre a run for its money, I had no objections to going.

I’m going to be truthful: I’m writing this after the fact, and what happens on the day following this one totally overshadows this day. Therefore, all the details of this particular Friday, November 9th in Madrid aren’t quite clear in my mind. I do remember the size of the museum, the amount of time we spent in it, and the lunch we had eating the best paella I’ve ever had, with an assortment of treats for dessert. We walked into the Madrid train station that has a jungle growing inside. We wandered downtown past an enormous church and the royal palace. I’m banking on the fact that what we ate for dinner was also good--that seems to be the trend with Spanish food.




Saturday, November 10th

Since we had done the Prado the day before and didn’t have time for the more contemporary Reina Sofia museum, we decided to start the day out with the Reina Sofia when it opened at 10am and stay ‘til noon (and no later), hop on the metro, and head to the airport. Ben was fully aware of the plan.

The morning at the hostel started out as planned. I even got up at 8am, packed up my stuff, and headed down early for the provided breakfast and so I could use the internet. Ben met me downstairs later when he woke up. We checked out and headed to the Reina Sofia. We explored on our own. (Fantastic, by the way. I liked it better than the Prado, though that was really good, too.) At noon, I went to find Ben, who had only just finished the first floor (there were two floors and two temporary exhibitions). He begged for an extra 30 minutes so he could quickly do the next floor and go to the boutique. I said okay, and that it might be pushing it, but we would just have to boot it afterwards.

With a story like “we missed our plane”, those of you who know my tendencies to be tardy might naturally assume that it was MY fault. But no, I take things like flights seriously! So I took the extra half an hour to visit the temporary photography exhibit (I think it was my favourite part) and glance at the over-priced boutique. Ben came in, bought out the boutique, and then we left and headed quickly to the metro station. On the way there, Ben said he was hungry and that he hadn't had his traditional kebab yet (he gets a kebab in every city he visits), so not only did he start looking for a place to grab a quick bite, he actually started frantically searching for a kebab store (we’d seen dozens, but of course, when we're looking for one specifically, there weren't any in sight). He didn't find one, and because I was checking my watch every 20 seconds, he settled for a hot dog place. He ordered a whole meal--fries, drink, and all--and then we headed to the metro station.

(On a side note, as we were getting onto the metro, we felt a huge push coming from behind. As I’m wrapped my arms around my backpack that I was wearing on my front, I heard Ben behind me saying to some guy “Hey! Gimme back my wallet!” Ben got pick-pocketed, and this sleazy guy and his friend were totally playing innocent. I didn’t know what had happened because I was in front of them, but Ben was convinced that this was the guy who had taken his wallet and kept asking him for it. The dude was stupid, but finally gave in and gave him back his wallet. Then he stood there beside us for they whole way until getting off at the next station. Now yes, Ben is a smart guy and he’s wise enough to be conscious of the tricks that pickpockets use, but after the dude taking his wallet out of his kangaroo pocket, Ben slipped it into his front jeans pocket. And right before the sleazy guys left the metro, the sleazy friend snatched the wallet back out of Ben’s front pocket. I hesitate to say “lucky” for Ben’s three-pound wallet because it’s easy to feel when it’s being taken out. Ben caught the second guy and grabbed it back out of his hand in mid-steal. The whole situation terrified me [and Ben, I would imagine] and just disgusted me, to tell you the truth. Having a money belt under my clothes is definitely the way to go. I feel safer that way.)

Back to the flight-missing story… so Ben ordered his food, hopped on the metro, nearly got pick-pocketed--twice!--and then lost his appetite because of what had just happened. The metro took us a while. The airport was huge, and we had to get to the furthest end of it. AND in the heat of our sprinting, we passed the 300’s and ran all the way to the 100’s only to realize that the RyanAir check-ins were in the 300’s. We ran all the way back. It was 1:33 and the flight was scheduled to leave at 2:00. The RyanAir people told us check-in shuts down 40 minutes before the flight. I knew that. Ben knew that. These people weren’t going to make an exception for us. I was choked. Really, really, freaking choked.

The next two hours spent in the airport are sort of fuzzy. We checked into other flights to Marseille for the day. We checked into flights to Toulouse--a 5-hours train ride from Marseille. We met another couple who were in the same situation as us, and together, we looked into taking the overnight train. We even researched renting a car and driving to France. It was a weird couple of hours. When Ben asked me “Are you mad at me?”, I was still in shocked-at-missing-a-flight and now-working-on-finding-every-next-option mode. I replied that I was frustrated with the situation. It hadn’t even clicked to appoint blame and that the blame should be on him, so yes, I was steaming mad at him. Oh well, it would have been stupid and useless to the situation for me to say that. Factoring in gas, toll fees, food, and hotel, believe it or not, paying 75€ for a flight the next day and staying for one more night in a hotel or hostel, was actually the “cheapest” option. I was not pleased.

Ben and I, and the other couple and their baby boy (it was a black couple, in their thirties, from Martinique, a French country in the Caribbean), went to go hunt for a hostel/hotel, and after several unsuccessful attempts, we luckily found one after my nothing of Spanish getting us through to this one-star hotel-owner who was the nicest lady in the world. She didn’t speak a lick or French or English, but she was so patient and really was trying her best to help us. She didn’t have any rooms for the night (the common theme of the night, seeing as it’s a long weekend in Madrid, so Spanish people from all over the country are here for some random holiday or something) but she actually went upstairs a few floors with us to another hotel and asked the lady there. The couple and their baby were in one room and Ben and I were in another room. Two rooms. 35€ for each of them. Two beds in each room. It was even slightly cheaper than the hostel.

Now, one of the rooms was only accessible after 8pm, so we all left our stuff in one room, and then we went out with the couple for dinner (after wandering around with a stroller and baby for over an hour because Ben thought he knew where he was going) and then we did groceries for breakfast in the morning, and went back to the hotel. Ben read. I went out for a walk at 11:30pm. I came back at 1am. (The city was still buzzing. Apparently people don’t go to bed until about 6am.) I needed some time alone for myself to de-stress a bit.


Extra costs to this trip:
- Plane: 10€ original flight + 75€ for tomorrow’s flight
- Metro ticket: 2€
- Hotel: 17.50€
- Dinner: 9€
- Breakfast tomorrow: 3€
- Zanda’s de-stressing chocolate fix: 3€ (and it was even a Spanish specialty--churreros!)
- Metro ticket back to airport tomorrow: 2€
- Total: a fortune!! None of this mastercard “priceless” crap. With what I spent on the original trip and food, it came out to be quite a lot.)

I mean, sure, I missed the flight too, so I guess I have to take some of the blame for missing the flight. I could have left Ben and just headed to the airport, but that would have been a really catty thing to do, so I didn’t seriously contemplate that idea. (Although on the second attempt at catching the flight, I wouldn’t have even blinked an eye to leaving on my own early to get checked in and through security early. I learn quickly.) The next morning, after eating the stuff we had breakfast in our hotel room, we left with the other couple and arrived HOURS early for the flight, and as it turns out, the check-in and security lines took us about an hour and a half! With very limited and tense conversation between myself and Ben, we made it back to Marseille and then back to the comfort of our own rooms in Aix.

Anyhow, it’s a funny story, eh? Hah. Hah. I wasn’t laughing at the time, but I suppose it gives me a good story.

Aix, Nice, and Monaco with Muqing and the Italians

Thursday, November 1st – Monday, November 5th, 2007


Background on Muqing (pronounced “moo-ching”):
• Muqing and I worked together in Ottawa on the Hill for about a year.
• She’s doing an exchange for this semester in Lille, northern France.


Background on her friend:
• Laura is Italian, from Milan, and she met Muqing in Lille while also on exchange.
• Laura has a twin sister on exchange in Nice, about two hours away from Aix.


The plan:
• Muqing and Laura come down from Lille and visit Aix-en-Provence.
• We spend a day or two in Aix and cram the three of us here in my tiny little room to sleep.
• We then take the train or the bus and head to Nice to stay with Laura’s twin
• And then we cram the four of us in her res room to sleep!


The weekend:
Thursday, November 1st, 2007

Muqing and her friend Laura arrived in Aix shortly after noon. I met them at the bus station and we headed back to my residence to drop off their stuff. It was so great to see and to spend the weekend with someone from home.

It was also really great to get an opportunity to play tourist in the city that I’m living in. When I moved here, I just sort of immediately adopted it as “my city” for the year, and I did lots of exploring, but more of my adventures were finding the cheapest grocery stores, where the nearest park was, how far away the soccer field was, the quickest way to get to school, and where the best and cheapest crepes were; but I never really explored Aix like a tourist would.

The first day consisted of wandering around downtown with Ben from down the hall, and searching for the best pizza place that was open considering it was a holiday (Toussaint). This was followed by more exploring downtown.

In the evening, we stopped by a grocery store, bought the makings for a delicious pasta dinner and breakfast the next morning. We ate dinner pretty late and then went to bed (as the girls had been up since 5am that morning to catch their 6-hour train ride here.


Friday, November 2nd, 2007

The next day, we started out by heading to the Friday market that is beside my residence. We explored there for a while and then headed back to my place to make a big breakfast. We went to the train station and the bus station to see what would be the cheapest and most convenient way to get to Nice, and then we learned that Laura’s sister had not made it back to Nice after going home for the week. So, taking into account the fact that we would be homeless if we went to Nice that night, we decided to spend the rest of the day in Aix again and we’d head to Nice tomorrow morning.

So on Friday, Muqing, Laura and I really walked around a lot downtown…


…Found a really cool courtyard in this massively ancient church…


…Took a ride on the mini tourist train that bounces down the streets of Aix while giving you information about the city in seven different languages…


…And then found a little Asian store down a tiny street that sold what we needed to have a SUSHI NIGHT!! Everyone from the residence who came into the kitchen while we were making it was so impressed! It was great.


Tonin joined us while we ate our sushi and watched “Casino Royale” (en français, bien sûr!) and then we headed out for Nutella crepes downtown. Mmmmmm…


Saturday, November 3d, 2007

The next morning, our bus arrived in Nice at 11am. It was beautiful. The water was so blue, there were people sun-tanning on the palm tree lined beach, and it was warm enough on November 3d to be walking around in a t-shirt.

We headed to the train station to pick up Laura’s twin (Daniela) who was arriving from Milan and then bussed it to Daniela’s residence. And I thought MY residence was far from everything. Daniela’s residence is a 45-minute face-paced walk from downtown, and for her to get to her classes, she has to take a 30-minute train ride every day. That’s brutal! Her residence, on the other hand, is much nicer than mine. She does pay a bit more than me, but she has a little cooking area with a mini-fridge and a sink, and she also has a bathroom with a sink, a toilet and shower!! That’s luxurious! Her building is circular and she has a great view of the city and the Mediterranean through the huge window in her room.



The rest of Saturday, the four of us spent wandering around the really charming Vieux Nice, getting groceries for a dinner at the residence, and watching a movie with a German girl from the residence.


Sunday, November 4th, 2007

Sunday morning, we woke up early to go catch the bus to Monaco. We spent the whole morning and into the afternoon climbing the side of a mountain to get up to the Royal Palace, taking pictures, watching the changing of the guard, wandering back down the mountain on the other side, through the botanical gardens, getting to Vieux Monaco, taking pictures, exploring a giant church with pictures and the story of the Prince, Grace Kelly and her death, eating lunch, taking more pictures, walking up another mountain on the other side of the port to get to the famous casino (where I’ve never seen so many fancy cars, well-dressed people, and tourists all in the same place!), and then taking the bus back to Nice.











Once back in Nice, we did more climbing of mountains up to this ancient castle site. The castle was no longer there, but of course, having a bunch of ancient stones on the top of a mountain with a really nice view is enough to make it a tourist attraction. The nice part was that it wasn’t only tourists. Some locals just go and walk around there, too. It was pretty nice.






We sat on the beach to watch the sunset, then went hunting for a place to eat out (that wasn’t ridiculously over-priced). We eventually found a place, ate our food, and walked back into Vieux Nice for ice cream. That was the coolest part of the weekend. This ice cream place called Fenocchio’s had dozens of flavours: poppy, lavender, cactus, olive, Kinder, tomato basil, about 20 kinds of chocolate, and other bizarre flavours on top of that.

We went back to the residence after going to the train station to pick up one of Daniela’s friends, and then fell asleep

Monday, November 5th, 2007

I woke up at 4:45am, said my quiet “goodbyes” and “thank yous”, and then walked the 45 minutes in the dark to go catch the 6am bus back to Aix. Muqing and Laura left from the train station in Nice to head back to Lille later that morning. I arrived back in Aix at 8am and went to the market to do my groceries, and then relaxed before heading to soccer.

Country on Strike

Tuesday, November 13th, 2007


As I’m writing this, I should be in class. I’m not in class though because there is a massive pile of desks and chairs--from floor to ceiling--blocking my way. A “blocage” (said with a French accent) is what they’re calling it. The students at my school are on strike.

Actually, I should say that the students at my faculty are on strike. The rest of the faculties and schools in the area are still having classes and exams and everything. It’s only my faculty that has completely closed down the campus where we are. It first started about two weeks ago when the students were going to hold a huge protest right in the main hall of our faculty. The president of the school got wind of this, and evacuated everyone from the school. The students held the protest outside of the school, tossed chairs and desks all around blocking all the entries and so the campus was closed down with chains and locks. Classes were cancelled for the next two days. The school reopened, but on the second day, when I showed up for my evening class, there was no teacher, and someone came running into my classroom to tell us that there was another strike. No class for the rest of the week. It opened once more for a couple days, and then I think it was the president who decided to shut it down for a while. And here I am today, not knowing what’s going on or whether I will have class tomorrow or not. (Did I mention that the train company in France is on strike today, too?) Welcome to France.

The students are striking the privatization of post-secondary education. Basically, they don’t want to have what we have in Canada. Right now I have friends paying anywhere from 7€ to a few hundred euros each year. It’s really cheap. Everyone in France has access to higher education, and there are heaps of bursaries that they can apply for (hence one of my friends paying only 7€ for the year). The government wants to turn it into a system (like Canada’s) where tuition will resemble 5000€ and therefore, not everyone will have access. So if you take this into account, you’ll realize that the students right now are striking a service that they’re using. It doesn’t really make sense. You can’t “strike” a service that you’re using. You can boycott it, but you can’t strike it.

Anyhow, all the classes except for the sports classes are cancelled, so it’s kind of fun. (My academic classes: langues du monde, morphologie, discours et pratiques langagières, italien, allemand.) All I have to go to are the sports classes! (I have a soccer class with the girls, one with the boys, a volleyball class, and a soccer coaching course where we work with 8-year-olds from the nearby primary school.) Rough life, eh? However, as nice as it is for the moment, it’s also really frustrating. I have no idea when to go to class or when the strike will be over or even really what’s going on. I’ve heard rumours that classes for the next couple of weeks might be cancelled, and the repercussions of that would be adding a catch-up week or two, then pushing the exam period back, which would push the second semester back and in turn, the school year would finish later into the summer than it already does. I am really not looking forward to that if it happens.

Holidays: MIA

Monday, November 12th, 2007


I’m really missing something here, and I think I’ve figured out what it is: holidays. Since I’ve been here, we sailed by Thanksgiving, we zoomed passed Halloween, and just yesterday, Remembrance Day flew by and I hardly even noticed. Here, those holidays are either not celebrated, slowly dying out, or just forgotten.

Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated here, and while it’s not huge in Canada either, I still missed having the quiet evening eating a huge delicious meal with my family and grandparents, and then having leftover turkey sandwiches or turkey soup the day after.

Halloween, I’m told, used to be celebrated here a couple years ago, but it’s just sort of died. And as much as I missed seeing the kids in costume running around the streets with their bags full of candy, and the “big kids” dressed up going to Halloween parties, it is nice to know that cultures can withdraw from the American influence. While I was doing my groceries the day before Halloween, I actually heard an announcement in the grocery store giving directions to the kids to put on a costume and go knocking on doors for candy. That was when I knew that it wasn’t going to be as big as back home. I mean, what kid need directions to dress up and get candy?!? I was also very disappointed at the lack of discounted Halloween candy the following day. It was pretty much non-existent. The French even have a holiday (Toussaint) the day after Halloween, so it’s strange that more people don’t go out.

People know what November 11th is, and I’m told that sometimes there’s a holiday on that day. But since it fell on a Sunday this year, everyone just sort of let it fly by.

I am so incredibly happy that I am going to be spending Christmas with a family (even though it won’t be my own). I’ve been talking with a bunch of the Canadians that are here for the year, and they are all frantically trying to search for Christmas plans. Some of them had the impression that their European friends would invite them home to spend the holidays in Italy, or Germany, or Spain, etc. And even though that’s how it would work in Canada, the culture isn’t quite the same here. The Europeans are all expressing their excitement to head home for the holidays, and the Canadians still don’t have any invitations. Most of them are now looking up travel options that are going to cost them a fortune because it’s the holidays and yet, they’ll still end up sleeping alone in a hostel on Christmas Eve.

All of this is making me feel pretty fortunate that I’m heading down to South Africa and staying with Warren and his family for the holidays. It’ll be nice to be around a family, and it’ll be a totally new experience having Christmas in the summer, and spending New Year's in 35-degree weather!!

Residence Staff

Wednesday, October 31st


The staff that works here at the residence is an interesting group of people. The cleaning ladies are psycho, and the lady who works at the front desk is an impatient, aggressive, paranoid nutcase.

I was actually woken up one morning at 7:30am by a gang of raging cleaning ladies banging on my door. Not knocking—banging. To lock your door from the inside, you still need to stick your key into the lock, and I had left my keys in the lock overnight. Lucky for me, that disables anyone using a key from the outside to come in. Therefore, instead of the cleaning ladies unlocking my door and just barging in, I actually had to get out of bed and go open the door. I didn’t mind. I later heard horror stories of the cleaning ladies not even knocking, but just opening the door and barreling in to rooms with people sleeping naked, or standing there getting changed, or doing other strange things. And the reason they came storming into my room at 7:30am? It was to tell me that I should wipe the kitchen counter after I use it. There was a mob of cleaning ladies clamoring down my hall banging on everyone’s door telling them to use a sponge on the kitchen counter after they used it. That was their only point. The kitchen was dirty, so let’s wake everyone up at 7:30am to tell them to clean it. It was ridiculous. The fact that there isn’t even a garbage can in the kitchen, and we’re not even allowed to put one in there makes it even more ridiculous. Apparently, the cleaning ladies aren’t paid enough to empty a garbage can (but yet, they’re paid enough to flock the rooms in the morning).

The signs that they put up are even funnier. First of all, all of their signs were in French. But as they’re starting to notice the number of Asians that are in this residence, they’re starting to translate some of the signs into English. What a joke. You have the funniest wording on some of the English translations, that it’s almost incomprehensible. “I remind to you that to put a plastic film or other envisaged to this end on a dish makes clean the microwave.” There are also signs in each of the bathroom stalls that tell us to use the seats for what they’re for and to not stand on the edges. I’m not quite sure how they pictured people standing on the seats to use the toilets, but there must have been some reason that they put signs like that up.

The lady who works every morning down at the front desk is scary. The first time I spoke with her at the beginning of the year, she asked me what room I was in. I answered her “422”. She stared at me impatiently. I repeated myself in case she didn’t hear me or didn’t misunderstood me. “422.” Again, she just peered up at me over the rim of her glasses like she was waiting for something more. Then she burst out angrily “and what building?” “Oh, building G.” Then she exploded!! “Well, how am I supposed to know what building you’re in? Am I supposed to be psychic? You have to answer my questions when I ask you. I’m not a mind reader, you know.” And she carried on lecturing me with a fast-paced French rant until I had given her the information she needed and slipped away back up the stairs to my room. 422. Building G.

One morning, I had woken up early, made a cup of tea, and went downstairs to ask if the residence receives news from the faculty about the strike. I worded it that way and everything. Man, this woman really must not be a morning person—they should definitely put her on a later shift or something! She exploded at me again. “We are CROUS (housing in France) and we’re not affiliated with the faculties. We don’t hear anything from the school. We are CROUS. We have nothing to do with the universities. We have students from all of the faculties. How are we supposed to have news from all of the faculties? That would be impossible. We’re independent from the universities, and you’ll have to read a paper if you want news.” I really only needed the first sentence. That was the answer to my question: “do you receive news from the faculties?” “No.” Simple as that. I really don’t think I needed my head ripped off to get the message through. Oh well, maybe it helped her release some tension. I hope so, anyway.

Oslo, Norway

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Today Michael and I flew to Oslo, Norway for the weekend. We flew using RyanAir, and before continuing with details of the trip, I feel I should explain RyanAir as an airline company: RyanAir is known for its super-cheap flights. It’s true. We managed to get a flight there for 0.01€ and a flight at the same price back. Yes, you understood correctly, a return flight to Norway for two people cost us a total of 4 cents! Actually, if I’m going to do the conversion into Canadian dollars, then it’s about 6 cents—that’s 6 cents BEFORE taxes. That’s how RyanAir gets you. It starts out cheap, but for every extra thing, they charge the heck out of you. Booking with a Visa card? Pay more. Checking-in in person? Pay more. Want to check luggage? Pay more. Want to check overweight luggage? Pay a lot more. With taxes, a return flight cost us a total of 32€. For a flight to Norway, that’s still an amazing price, but it’s quite different than 2 cents.


We also had to pay to take a bus from Aix to the Marseille airport. Poor Michael, he actually had to pay that twice because he left his passport at his place and had to go back to get it. I met Michael in the International Office when we were both dealing with some of the incredibly annoying apply-to-get-the-rest-of-your-visa-so-you-can-stay-in-the-country stuff. He’s from New York, but goes to school in Chicago. While he went back to get his passport, I took our stuff and went to go check in at the airport. Good thing we decided to go early! Buy the time Michael had made the trip back, gotten his passport, and then hopped back on the 30-minute bus ride to the airport, we still made it on time. I’m pretty lucky I didn’t have any bottles of liquid over 100ml in my backpack—they were throwing all of that out. I think I’ve finally learned to “travel lightly”. I had with me my backpack, and in it, I had my sleeping bag (which took up two thirds of the space), and squished down the side, two t-shirts, soap, deodorant, a facecloth, my toothbrush, a mini toothpaste and a spoon. (I thought about taking a fork and knife, but didn’t think the airport security would like that very much.) I also decided at the last minute to bring my laptop with us so that we could find a place to stay. We had spent two hours the night before looking up every hostel within a 100km radius of Oslo and it seemed as though they were ALL BOOKED. But alas, our flight was reserved, so we hopped on the plane, and flew into the unknown.


I thought there was a mistake when I saw that there was no seat number written on my boarding pass. But when Michael didn’t have a seat number either, I thought it was quite strange. When they announced the gate number, and people started rushing to get there, I began to see what was going on. It was as bad as a bunch of elementary school kids trying to get in line first to get to sit at the back of the bus. With RyanAir, you PICK YOUR SEAT! It was quite the gong-show. Somehow Michael and I managed to get three seats for the two of us and had a fairly comfortable 3-hour flight.

Another way that RyanAir can make you pay more money is by flying into an airport almost two hours outside of the city, and making you pay to take a shuttle to the downtown area. That’s what they did for us this time. We flew into Torp, Norway, and took a 15€ shuttle to Oslo. Once we were there, it was about 10pm. Thank heavens I had taken my sweatshirt and my winter coat that, up to this point, had been sitting in its vacuum-sealed bag in my closet. It was about 2 degrees—a big change from the 19-20 degree weather in Aix. A comforting thought was the fact that the city was not dead at all. It was actually buzzing. There were people bundled up in the most fashionable way all over the place, wandering the streets, going from bar to bar, or sitting at a restaurant on the heated patio with restaurant-supplied fleece blankets.

Our next mission: to eat and to find a place to stay for at least tonight. We would worry about tomorrow night tomorrow. We found a grocery store and this was our first realization that everything seemed to be a lot more expensive than usual. We were getting pretty hungry, so we bought some bread and some stuff to make sandwiches (the spoon came in handy). We found an empty food court in a closed mall and ate there while contemplating how to find a place to stay for the night.


We then spent the next two hours looking for a place to stay. We found a system to find the cheapest rooms: we would take turns walking into a hotel and asking for the cheapest single room. “Only for you, Miss?” “Yes, just me. (I’ll sneak my friend in later.)” First of all, if they had a room available, it was impressive. Most everything was booked solid for the weekend. And then if the price of the room was enough to make us faint, we would hint at that fact and ask if they knew of a place more suited to a student’s budget. Our standards were lowering (I need a bed → I need a couch → I need floor space → I just need somewhere indoors!), and we were beginning to see that we might need to shell out a lot more than we had planned to stay somewhere for the night. In one hotel that I was asking, I saw that there was a computer room just around the corner from the front desk. After asking the guy at the desk if he knew somewhere “better-suited” to students, I asked him if he’d let me use a computer for two minutes. You see, the night before when we realized that everything seemed to be full, I started sending out requests from this site that I had signed up for not too long ago. It’s called Couch-Surfing. The basic idea is that you offer your couch to couch-surfers coming to visit your city. What’s in it for you? Well, if the couch-surfers are good guests, they’ve probably brought you a gift from where they’re from, or maybe they’ll cook you a nice meal, or maybe take you out for dinner. It was pretty last-minute when I sent out the requests, and up until that time, I had checked online for replies a couple of times, but the only ones I had gotten were “sorry, I’m already hosting other couch-surfers” or “sorry, I’ll be out of town surfing someone else’s couch for the weekend.” So at about midnight, I’m asking in a hotel to use their computer to check one last time.

Success!! At 11:22pm, a guy named Ross had answered my request saying “sure, come on over” and giving us directions to his place. We walked to his place, and along the way, we met a couple of young Norwegians who saw us checking our map and asked us if we needed help to get somewhere. We had already figured it out, but walked along talking with them because they were headed in the same direction. We got to Ross’ place and a girl answered the door, “Hi! Couch surfers? Come on in. Ross is in the kitchen.” It was a massive apartment and we soon learned that there were seven people living in it. Ross, originally from the Cayman Islands, two girls from Sweden, a guy from Greece, a girl and a guy from Norway, and then a guy from Germany who was away for the weekend. There was also another couch-surfer already there; she was from Poland. The Polish girl slept in the extra bed, and Michael and I slept on the two couches in the living room. We talked in the kitchen for a while with a few of the roommates, and then, as it was about 2am, we hit the couches and slept peacefully, indoors, on a couch, until the morning.



Friday, October 19, 2007

We woke up to the sun rising outside the giant window in Ross’ living room.


We looked up some information that I had compiled about things to do in Oslo, got ready, and headed out for the day. It was such a relief to know that we had a roof to sleep under again tonight. And yes, I believe that the two hours spent panicking about finding a place to stay the night before was to teach me a lesson about leaving those arrangements to the last minute. I’ll know for next time.

We walked through downtown and headed to the Museum of Contemporary Art (on of the free things to do in Oslo). On our way, we stopped to take a few random pictures:


"Zanda the nerdy Parliament tour guide" in front of the Norwegian Parliament (the free tours were only on Saturdays, so I made a mental note to come back the next day in time to take a tour).


Michael in front of the “Tiny Bottle Store”. I think that’s what it was called. The mannequins behind him are indeed wearing clothing with tiny bottles attached.



At the museum, we saw some pretty cool and interesting things. There was a soccer exhibition that I’m pretty sure I heard was also at the National Art Gallery in Ottawa. It was a soccer game taken from every angle.


They had one screen focused on Zidane the whole time, even when he was nowhere near the play, one screen with the same thing animated, one screen focused on the play, one screen with the possible options of the player with the ball, one screen focused on the coaches faces the whole time, and another screen with the security guards at the entrance to the stadium. It was a cool concept.

We also went into this tiny claustrophobic staircase that led into a weird metallic hallway with a blindingly bright light at the end of it. We’re not sure if this was actually part of an exhibit or not. In any case, it was kind of cool.



Other interesting things included the pantyhose art, and the stuffed animal Jesus on a cross. It was a little shocking. Be sure to look closely at the expression on the Jesus-bear’s face.




After the museum, we went to the Akershus Fortress and Castle. That was really beautiful. It was fall, and it was colourful (contrary to in Aix where all the leaves just fall dead off the trees). The fortress was overlooking the city of Oslo and also the Oslofjord. And even though it was really cold out, the weather was gorgeous.




That giant white structure you see in the top right-hand corner of the picture is the Holmenkollen Ski Jump – “The site of the 1952 Winter Olympics and Norway’s most visited tourist spot.” They have even turned it into a museum where they have displayed a 4000-year history of skiing and a collection of skis dating back to pre-Viking times. Sounds interesting, but it wasn’t at the top of our to-do list.




"Norway’s most important medieval monument – built around 1300. It’s used today for state occasions."


Oslo, Norway: Big, Blond, and Beautiful ...This was a common site in Oslo—beautiful, tall, blond (natural, of course) women who were stunningly dressed.


After attempting to scale down the fortress wall, and, half-way down, realizing that it became smooth and there were no longer any grips for my hands, I climbed back up and, with legs like jello, found the stairs like a normal person.




“The fortress walls are steep, be careful.” The angle of the picture doesn't show it, but there's a drop-off right behind me. That’s where my failed scaling attempt took place.


We continued on our way to the Aker Brygge, a renovated waterfront district. “Built on to the wharf houses that once lined the quay, it is one of the most impressive shopping and dining areas of Northern Europe”—they fail to mention that it’s also one of the most expensive. (Although, we were noticing that that was becoming quite the theme in Oslo.)

We quickly visited the Historical Museum, but didn’t have a lot of time because it was closing. And then walked up to the Royal Palace where their head of state, King Herald, lives. “Every year on May 17th (Constitution Day) marching bands, dancing children and at least half the population of Oslo parade past its balcony, waving to the Royal Family.”


You turn 180˙ around, and this is the monarch’s driveway turning right into Karl Johan Street—the main downtown street:


We stopped at a grocery store, picked up enough pasta, sauce, buns, and ice cream to feed the apartment and ourselves, and headed back to Ross’ place to start cooking and to rest our tired feet.

The rest of the night was spent talking with the people in the apartment. It was great, we ate food and talked about the expensive prices living (their apartment costs them about $3500/month!!!), and the high standard of living, and the language differences. I hadn’t even realized that there were not only two languages (Norwegian and English) being spoken in the house on a regular basis, but three! Swedish was also being spoken regularly. Apparently, Norwegians and Swedes speak a language so similar that they can speak to each other in their own language and be perfectly understood (with the exception of a few terms [i.e. “Beautiful girl” in Norwegian = “slut” in Swedish… or maybe it’s the other way around… but you get the point.]) On top of that, apparently 10% of Oslo is Swedish. During our conversations, two MORE couch-surfers from Spain showed up. On top of the six people in the apartment, there were the five couch-surfers and Ross' two daughters staying the night. Since Michael and I had arrived the night before, we got to claim the two couches for the night. It was so late by the time we stopped talking and thought about going out, that we decided we would head to our respective couches and wake up early in the morning to get a good start on the last half-day we had in Oslo.



Saturday, October 20, 2007 → Michael’s birthday!!

Our start to the morning was a bit later than planned. Somehow we didn’t end up waking up at the planned 8am, but at 10:30. We had some leftovers for breakfast, talked a bit with Ross, thanked him and his roommates for hosting us on such short notice, and then went on our way. We hopped on the back of the tram that took us to Vigelandsparken: a park full of over 180 sculptures by the Norwegian Gustav Vigeland. The centerpiece of it all is an “18-meter high, 470-ton monolith with 121 figures depicting the ‘cycle of life’.” There were definitely some interesting statues. I think I’m starting to understand why nudity and other things we North Americans would find shocking don’t tend to shock other European cultures: They’re exposed to it so often, and it’s not taboo.






























After the park we rushed to the nearest tram station, hopped on, and arrived at the stop closest to the Parliament building. We ran up the street and to the entrance, only to be told that the visitor’s entrance was around the other side of the building! Where were the signs?! And once we got there, we had to push a button to talk with a security guard to find out that the tour was full and that the 1:00 tour was the last one of the day. I should have told him that we had come “ALL THE WAY FROM CANADA!” Needless to say, they didn’t “manage visitors’ expectations” very well. Then again, I have high standards.

While I was a little disappointed that we didn’t get to take a tour of the Parliament (I later found out Norway is also a constitutional monarchy, and the Legislature is a unicameral one made up of 165 members. The Monarch officially appoints the prime minister), we took the extra hour and strolled the buzzing streets looking for some sort of souvenir that didn’t break the bank.


I have to say that of all the places I’ve been to, Oslo is the first city that hasn’t had twenty over-priced country or city-specific souvenir shops on its main street. I mean, since it was Oslo, every single shop was over-priced, but at least they weren’t selling tacky souvenirs. We only encountered one tacky souvenir shop and it cost about $80 for a bag of shiny rocks, $14 for a keychain, $12 for a pen, $20 for a miniature troll, $40 for a regular scarf that had “Norway” written on it in the corner, $20 for a plastic Viking hat, etc. However, the ridiculous prices didn’t deter us from taking the clichéd picture…


And, taking into account my mother’s words of wisdom and starting an international collection of things I come across on my travels, I did end up buying the cheapest most expensive knick-knack holder for my desk. I had decided on buying it before I asked the cashier what it said. What’s written on it only makes it funnier. On one side it says “Drink the beer before it goes flat.” And on the other side it says “Kiss the girl before she passes out.”


We decided we would actually spend a little money and go have a sit-down lunch before taking the bus to the airport. To give you an idea of some of the prices of this restaurant (which was apparently a family restaurant, and not really excessively fancy), a ham and cheese omelet was about $22. A cup of coffee with a muffin came to about $8 or $9. Some of the main courses were into the 250 kroner price range, meaning about $45. The cheapest thing on the menu was, oddly enough, the pizza buffet. We both went with that, and Michael decided the meal would be his birthday present from his parents courtesy of their credit card. (Thank you Michael’s parents!!) We grabbed the tiniest $4 McFlurries I had ever seen in my life and we headed to the bus station. We hopped on the airport shuttle at 4:30pm, headed back to the Oslo airport, played the “be-the-first-one-on-the-plane-to-pick-your-seat” game, flew back into Marseille, and took the bus that brought us to Aix at midnight. It was a pretty darn good weekend in Norway.