Friday, September 28, 2007
A conclusion that I have reached is that either a.) The French discourage peeing, or that b.) Going to the bathroom is only for the privileged. Not convinced? Read on…
In general,
- Toilets have no seats.
- Bathrooms (and showers) are co-ed.
- Clean bathrooms don’t exist, only different levels of dirtiness.
- If you want to use a toilet outside of residence, bars, or campus, you need to pay to pee.
In residence,
- They don’t supply the stalls with toilet paper. This means that going to the bathroom is not a subtle thing. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination when you see someone walking down the hall with a roll of toilet paper in his or her hand. (Or even better, a roll of toilet paper and a textbook!)
- They also don’t have sinks in the res bathrooms. You need to go back to your room to wash your hands.
- (And a bit about the showers? Well, you can’t adjust the temperature, and in any case, they seem to only have two settings: icy cold or scalding hot.)
In a bar,
- Most bars have nothing more than a hole in the ground. Consider yourself LUCKY if you get a seatless toilet!
- You can also imagine that drunken girls squatting and drunken boys trying to aim doesn’t leave the nicest aftermath in the stall.
- You might get toilet paper if there is still some left. Though, they’re never in a hurry to restock.
On campus,
- Again, toilet paper isn’t restocked very often. Go in the morning. Otherwise, carry Kleenex with you at all times.
- Sometimes you can get carried away reading all the colourful graffiti. However, if that happens, you will be left to do your deeds in the dark.
- The light is timed, so after about 90 seconds, it shuts off. Eco-friendly? I think not! It’s just another way to get you in and out as fast as they can!
- Now on campus, it’s a step up (a very small step). They have sinks. Soap and a way to dry your hands? Think again. I usually walk out of the bathroom with wet handprints on my jeans.
I hear that the North of France is a little more up-to-date on the toilet stuff, but hey, in exchange for weather like this, I’m more than happy to put up with a seatless toilet for the year.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Lost in Aix
Thursday, September 27, 2007
I’ve decided that Aix is a fantastic city to live in if you have no place to be at a certain time. On the other hand, if you’re supposed to be somewhere, there is a very high chance that you will get lost.
No wonder the French are always late. The downtown of Aix is an old medieval city. This means that there is a tangled web of narrow streets going in no particular order and in no particular direction surrounded by three or four main streets bordering the old city. There is absolutely NO organization. No one here uses street names as directions. I am led to believe that not even the locals know the names of the streets.
I’m in the market for a bike at the moment, and while trying to find the main sports store, I asked the lady working at the Student Life Office. I have a map that she drew for me. It has the main street labeled and then little offshoots that twist and turn sporadically and are most certainly not labeled. I think she sort of gave up with drawing the map while she was trying to give me directions. Translated, the conversation went as follows:
Lady: You know the main street, le Cours Mirabeau?
Me: Yes, I know that one.
Lady: Okay, well there is a road to the side; I think it’s called “Thiers”.
Me: (Thinking to myself: There are a thousand roads to the side. You ‘think’ that’s what it’s called?) Okay, yes, “Thiers”.
Lady: Yes, I think that is it. Turn on that road; it is near the end of the street. There are a few streets that you have to follow after. I don’t know the names of them.
Me : (Are you kidding me? Why don’t you just say you don’t know how to get to the store?) Okay, in which direction?
Lady: You will find it. It’s in the middle. Just follow the tiny streets. It’s in that direction.
Me: (The "tiny streets"?! Lady… there are a hundred tiny streets. Some of them aren’t even on the map! In "the middle"? The middle of what?! There are three main "middle" sections in the downtown area.) Okay I’ll try. Thank you for your help, (...which was utterly useless, by the way).
As it turns out, I didn’t use her directions at all. I used a real map. I like to think I’m a brilliant map-reader. Give me a map and I’ll get you where you need to go. Well this was a disaster! At first I didn’t want to pull out the map because I didn’t want to seem like a tourist. Then when it was absolutely necessary, I used it. I’ve never doubted my map-reading skills so much! After double the time it should have taken, I found the store and bought my new silver and red cleats (men’s of course because they don’t sell women’s cleats)! I didn’t find the bike I was looking for, but I’m pumped to start soccer practice on Monday.
I’ve decided that Aix is a fantastic city to live in if you have no place to be at a certain time. On the other hand, if you’re supposed to be somewhere, there is a very high chance that you will get lost.
No wonder the French are always late. The downtown of Aix is an old medieval city. This means that there is a tangled web of narrow streets going in no particular order and in no particular direction surrounded by three or four main streets bordering the old city. There is absolutely NO organization. No one here uses street names as directions. I am led to believe that not even the locals know the names of the streets. I’m in the market for a bike at the moment, and while trying to find the main sports store, I asked the lady working at the Student Life Office. I have a map that she drew for me. It has the main street labeled and then little offshoots that twist and turn sporadically and are most certainly not labeled. I think she sort of gave up with drawing the map while she was trying to give me directions. Translated, the conversation went as follows:
Lady: You know the main street, le Cours Mirabeau?
Me: Yes, I know that one.
Lady: Okay, well there is a road to the side; I think it’s called “Thiers”.
Me: (Thinking to myself: There are a thousand roads to the side. You ‘think’ that’s what it’s called?) Okay, yes, “Thiers”.
Lady: Yes, I think that is it. Turn on that road; it is near the end of the street. There are a few streets that you have to follow after. I don’t know the names of them.
Me : (Are you kidding me? Why don’t you just say you don’t know how to get to the store?) Okay, in which direction?
Lady: You will find it. It’s in the middle. Just follow the tiny streets. It’s in that direction.
Me: (The "tiny streets"?! Lady… there are a hundred tiny streets. Some of them aren’t even on the map! In "the middle"? The middle of what?! There are three main "middle" sections in the downtown area.) Okay I’ll try. Thank you for your help, (...which was utterly useless, by the way).
As it turns out, I didn’t use her directions at all. I used a real map. I like to think I’m a brilliant map-reader. Give me a map and I’ll get you where you need to go. Well this was a disaster! At first I didn’t want to pull out the map because I didn’t want to seem like a tourist. Then when it was absolutely necessary, I used it. I’ve never doubted my map-reading skills so much! After double the time it should have taken, I found the store and bought my new silver and red cleats (men’s of course because they don’t sell women’s cleats)! I didn’t find the bike I was looking for, but I’m pumped to start soccer practice on Monday.
Monday, September 24, 2007
First Weekend
Monday, September 24, 2007
Finally!! I just got out of my first class, and I’m on campus, on-line, and on MY computer! It’s been a little frustrating not having any internet in the residence other than eight computers (although fewer functional) for all of the 1000 students. I’ve had a busy past few days doing things and meeting people. There seems to be an abnormal amount of students here from uOttawa. I suppose it’s because there are only three or four of us at my university, but there are a bunch of others at a different university in Aix. Three of us are even on my floor! I didn’t know either of them before, but apparently I took a Spanish class with Rachael in first year (she was the one who cooked a big steak, stir-fry and spicy rice meal for me and a few others on my first night there.) Mélissa, the other girl from uOttawa, also had been here for two weeks before I arrived because the classes at their university started a lot earlier. I’ve met some French people, although they are very seriously into their studies, and only a select few go out of their way to meet people. My neighbour across the hall, Tolin, always comes and knocks on my door to say hi.
There are many Quebecers here too. I had an adventure with Benjamin the other night when we went to the massive grocery store by bus. (There is a smaller one a block away from rez, but if I keep shopping there, I will need to pack my things within a few months because I won’t have any money left.) So the big one we went to was called Géant Casino. And there you have it, I haven't quite figured it out. The casino is called “Pasino” and the grocery store is called “Casino”. I’m in France. Things are backwards. I won’t ask questions. When we got back we made a big meal with pasta, crazy French sauce, and of course we had wine, a baguette and cheese. I’ve decided that every time I buy cheese, I will try a new kind. This time, I bought a big sphere of Camembert for 1€. The enormous chunk of Brie at the same price was very tempting, and I might give in to that temptation a little later on in the year.
Yesterday, I ventured to Marseille with another Quebecer, Wissem. It was beautiful, right on the Mediterranean ocean and therefore, had several tourists and lots of expensive restaurants right on the water.
We wandered the streets, listening to nothing but Arabic and seeing nothing but North African vendors. They have stores selling food from Morocco, rugs from Tunisia, and clothes from Algeria. It was quite esthetically pleasing, and even though it’s only 30 minutes from Aix, it felt like a completely different place.
It was quite hot, so Wissem and I decided to go swim in the ocean. However, being right downtown, all the beaches along the water were private and reserved for the bourgeois or Marseille.
As we had already been walking for a good couple of hours, we decided we didn’t want to walk another five kilometers to the nearest public beach. So we hopped a fence to where there wasn’t even a beach. It was a sort of no-man’s-land over the side of a cliff. We climbed down the stairs that you see in the top left of the picture.
Then we hopped the rocks down to the water.
It was so refreshing, but I didn’t know that the Mediterranean is known as the saltiest ocean. My shorts were stained with white salt streaks when they dried, and my hair was a little crunchy to the touch.
We walked around a little more to see the hoards of people crowded around any TV screen trying to watch the Rugby World Cup.
We grabbed a bite to eat at the “Quick”, the French version of McDonalds (although don’t get me wrong, the obviously have that here, too!). That was my first time eating there, and it was also my last. The “cheeseburger” (pronounced with a distinct French-massacring-English accent) didn’t sit too well with me on the bus ride home. All in all, including Friday night's outing to a cave-like dance club, it was a really good weekend. I do, however, need to start going to bed earlier than three in the morning!
Finally!! I just got out of my first class, and I’m on campus, on-line, and on MY computer! It’s been a little frustrating not having any internet in the residence other than eight computers (although fewer functional) for all of the 1000 students. I’ve had a busy past few days doing things and meeting people. There seems to be an abnormal amount of students here from uOttawa. I suppose it’s because there are only three or four of us at my university, but there are a bunch of others at a different university in Aix. Three of us are even on my floor! I didn’t know either of them before, but apparently I took a Spanish class with Rachael in first year (she was the one who cooked a big steak, stir-fry and spicy rice meal for me and a few others on my first night there.) Mélissa, the other girl from uOttawa, also had been here for two weeks before I arrived because the classes at their university started a lot earlier. I’ve met some French people, although they are very seriously into their studies, and only a select few go out of their way to meet people. My neighbour across the hall, Tolin, always comes and knocks on my door to say hi.
There are many Quebecers here too. I had an adventure with Benjamin the other night when we went to the massive grocery store by bus. (There is a smaller one a block away from rez, but if I keep shopping there, I will need to pack my things within a few months because I won’t have any money left.) So the big one we went to was called Géant Casino. And there you have it, I haven't quite figured it out. The casino is called “Pasino” and the grocery store is called “Casino”. I’m in France. Things are backwards. I won’t ask questions. When we got back we made a big meal with pasta, crazy French sauce, and of course we had wine, a baguette and cheese. I’ve decided that every time I buy cheese, I will try a new kind. This time, I bought a big sphere of Camembert for 1€. The enormous chunk of Brie at the same price was very tempting, and I might give in to that temptation a little later on in the year.
Yesterday, I ventured to Marseille with another Quebecer, Wissem. It was beautiful, right on the Mediterranean ocean and therefore, had several tourists and lots of expensive restaurants right on the water.
We wandered the streets, listening to nothing but Arabic and seeing nothing but North African vendors. They have stores selling food from Morocco, rugs from Tunisia, and clothes from Algeria. It was quite esthetically pleasing, and even though it’s only 30 minutes from Aix, it felt like a completely different place.
It was quite hot, so Wissem and I decided to go swim in the ocean. However, being right downtown, all the beaches along the water were private and reserved for the bourgeois or Marseille.
As we had already been walking for a good couple of hours, we decided we didn’t want to walk another five kilometers to the nearest public beach. So we hopped a fence to where there wasn’t even a beach. It was a sort of no-man’s-land over the side of a cliff. We climbed down the stairs that you see in the top left of the picture.
Then we hopped the rocks down to the water.
It was so refreshing, but I didn’t know that the Mediterranean is known as the saltiest ocean. My shorts were stained with white salt streaks when they dried, and my hair was a little crunchy to the touch.
We walked around a little more to see the hoards of people crowded around any TV screen trying to watch the Rugby World Cup.
We grabbed a bite to eat at the “Quick”, the French version of McDonalds (although don’t get me wrong, the obviously have that here, too!). That was my first time eating there, and it was also my last. The “cheeseburger” (pronounced with a distinct French-massacring-English accent) didn’t sit too well with me on the bus ride home. All in all, including Friday night's outing to a cave-like dance club, it was a really good weekend. I do, however, need to start going to bed earlier than three in the morning!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Medical Exam
Okay, I've already written something today, but I finished writing that while waiting for the doctor. What happens when I get into the doctor's office is worth writing.
First of all, I went to the doctor's office because to play any level of sport in France, you need a medical exam before hand, and a certificate saying you're fit enough to play.
The doctor comes out. He was a fairly young doctor, a little round, but still good-looking. We go into his office, and he locks the door behind him. We talk about what I need, and he says it's going to cost me 22€ for this piece of paper. Argh. But I absolutely need it to sign up for sports.
He then asks me to hop up on that long chair thing and take off my shirt. I stared at him blankly thinking it was maybe a language barrier. He looks back at me, holding the blood pressure arm-strap, and repeats himself, "enlève ta chemise". He even adds the motion, as if to say "are you too stupid to understand that I need you to take off your shirt in order for me to take your blood pressure?!". After a moment of me deciding is most certainly wasn't a miscommunication thing, I reservedly took off my shirt. He took my blood pressure as he stethoscoped my breathing. Really, I don't even see the necessity of removing someone's shirt when you can simply slip the stethoscope under it subtly like a Canadian doctor would do. He then allowed me to put my shirt back on, and requested that I do 30 squats as fast as I can while he counted. I imagine the look on my face must have conveyed something along the lines of "this guy is actually a doctor?!" It seemed like some scene from a bad porno movie called "Doctor's Orders". He then took my blood pressure again, and once more when my heart rate went down again. Then, when he asked what sport I played, he insulted me and called me macho. "Girls don't play soccer." Honestly. In the end, he decided I was in good enough condition to play sports. Thank heavens.
Well, it certaintly was an interesting trip chez le docteur!
First of all, I went to the doctor's office because to play any level of sport in France, you need a medical exam before hand, and a certificate saying you're fit enough to play.
The doctor comes out. He was a fairly young doctor, a little round, but still good-looking. We go into his office, and he locks the door behind him. We talk about what I need, and he says it's going to cost me 22€ for this piece of paper. Argh. But I absolutely need it to sign up for sports.
He then asks me to hop up on that long chair thing and take off my shirt. I stared at him blankly thinking it was maybe a language barrier. He looks back at me, holding the blood pressure arm-strap, and repeats himself, "enlève ta chemise". He even adds the motion, as if to say "are you too stupid to understand that I need you to take off your shirt in order for me to take your blood pressure?!". After a moment of me deciding is most certainly wasn't a miscommunication thing, I reservedly took off my shirt. He took my blood pressure as he stethoscoped my breathing. Really, I don't even see the necessity of removing someone's shirt when you can simply slip the stethoscope under it subtly like a Canadian doctor would do. He then allowed me to put my shirt back on, and requested that I do 30 squats as fast as I can while he counted. I imagine the look on my face must have conveyed something along the lines of "this guy is actually a doctor?!" It seemed like some scene from a bad porno movie called "Doctor's Orders". He then took my blood pressure again, and once more when my heart rate went down again. Then, when he asked what sport I played, he insulted me and called me macho. "Girls don't play soccer." Honestly. In the end, he decided I was in good enough condition to play sports. Thank heavens.
Well, it certaintly was an interesting trip chez le docteur!
The city
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Aix is a really beautiful city, but everything’s dirty. There is graffiti ALL over the place—in the streets, on the buildings, in the buildings, in the bathrooms, and even in the classrooms. Some of it’s nice: peace, love, succeed, dream, etc. Other stuff is not so nice, but I’ll leave that up to your imagination.
The city itself is kept relatively clean—well, other than the dog poop. There are dogs wandering around the city with no collar and no owner at all times. They must all have a place to live, however, because at night, they’re all gone—except for the ones that wander around in the bars. A girl on my floor, Mélissa, was in a clothing store yesterday and was shocked when she saw a dog just strolling by. She was even more shocked when it took a dump right in front of the elevator. So yes, the dog poop is annoying, however, even most of that is swept nicely to the side of the sidewalks.
Another thing, the sidewalks here need a different name. SidePARK? If it’s on a narrow street and the cars have nowhere else to park, apparently it’s perfectly all right to pull right onto the sidewalk and park on it, forcing the pedestrians to walk on the other side of the street.
And the pedestrians here—wow--there are so many of them! I was told that Aix has about 17 000 international students [that’s along with the other universities and not just mine]. But only about HALF of the people walking around are students. On the main street, people just sit in the cafés and people-watch.
Let’s see… other interesting things I’ve noticed. Oh, the poles! They have these thick poles that shoot out of the ground in the middle of the streets (most of the streets are one-way). They are supposed to change the direction of traffic in the evening to discourage people from entering the city to park overnight. It’s quite shocking to see these metal stumps in the middle of the road shooting up or back into the ground.
I dunked my head in a fountain today with a Quebecois named Wissem (not a very French name, I know, but he’s originally from Tunisia). There are amazing fountains all over the city. I’m not sure if we were really allowed to do that, but it was so hot and the water was really refreshing. They have huge problems here with drunken students dancing fully clothed in the fountains on the way home from the bar. That’s why they turn most of them off at coming-home-from-bar time.
Coming-home-from-bar time, by the way, is 6am here. The French routing is the following: go out to eat dinner (late of course) at about 7 or 8. Then around 9 or 10, you go to the bar and drink. After that, anytime between midnight and 3am, you go to the “boîte” and dance. Apparently, I’m up for a night similar to that tonight. And because classes don’t start until Monday, and I spent almost three hours doing something I was planning on doing tomorrow, it’ll probably be a good night followed by a sleep-in! I won’t sleep in that long. If I want a section of a fridge, some covers for my bed, and a kitchen kit that’s NOT ridiculously expensive, I have to show up tomorrow between 9 and 11:30am. You see, everything completely shuts down here for two hours between 11:30 and 1:30 in the afternoons. And some places choose not to re-open after that. Sometimes, they decide to not open before then, and instead open after—and only on certain days! Going anywhere really requires some planning. Ahhh… the French!
(Wissem dunking his head in la fontaine des quatre dauphins.)
(The same fountain as above, but during the day. It's the fountain in the middle of the roundabout (they have roundabouts at almost every intersection here) right in front of where downtown officially begins.)
Aix is a really beautiful city, but everything’s dirty. There is graffiti ALL over the place—in the streets, on the buildings, in the buildings, in the bathrooms, and even in the classrooms. Some of it’s nice: peace, love, succeed, dream, etc. Other stuff is not so nice, but I’ll leave that up to your imagination.
The city itself is kept relatively clean—well, other than the dog poop. There are dogs wandering around the city with no collar and no owner at all times. They must all have a place to live, however, because at night, they’re all gone—except for the ones that wander around in the bars. A girl on my floor, Mélissa, was in a clothing store yesterday and was shocked when she saw a dog just strolling by. She was even more shocked when it took a dump right in front of the elevator. So yes, the dog poop is annoying, however, even most of that is swept nicely to the side of the sidewalks.
Another thing, the sidewalks here need a different name. SidePARK? If it’s on a narrow street and the cars have nowhere else to park, apparently it’s perfectly all right to pull right onto the sidewalk and park on it, forcing the pedestrians to walk on the other side of the street.
And the pedestrians here—wow--there are so many of them! I was told that Aix has about 17 000 international students [that’s along with the other universities and not just mine]. But only about HALF of the people walking around are students. On the main street, people just sit in the cafés and people-watch.
Let’s see… other interesting things I’ve noticed. Oh, the poles! They have these thick poles that shoot out of the ground in the middle of the streets (most of the streets are one-way). They are supposed to change the direction of traffic in the evening to discourage people from entering the city to park overnight. It’s quite shocking to see these metal stumps in the middle of the road shooting up or back into the ground.
I dunked my head in a fountain today with a Quebecois named Wissem (not a very French name, I know, but he’s originally from Tunisia). There are amazing fountains all over the city. I’m not sure if we were really allowed to do that, but it was so hot and the water was really refreshing. They have huge problems here with drunken students dancing fully clothed in the fountains on the way home from the bar. That’s why they turn most of them off at coming-home-from-bar time.
Coming-home-from-bar time, by the way, is 6am here. The French routing is the following: go out to eat dinner (late of course) at about 7 or 8. Then around 9 or 10, you go to the bar and drink. After that, anytime between midnight and 3am, you go to the “boîte” and dance. Apparently, I’m up for a night similar to that tonight. And because classes don’t start until Monday, and I spent almost three hours doing something I was planning on doing tomorrow, it’ll probably be a good night followed by a sleep-in! I won’t sleep in that long. If I want a section of a fridge, some covers for my bed, and a kitchen kit that’s NOT ridiculously expensive, I have to show up tomorrow between 9 and 11:30am. You see, everything completely shuts down here for two hours between 11:30 and 1:30 in the afternoons. And some places choose not to re-open after that. Sometimes, they decide to not open before then, and instead open after—and only on certain days! Going anywhere really requires some planning. Ahhh… the French!
(Wissem dunking his head in la fontaine des quatre dauphins.)
(The same fountain as above, but during the day. It's the fountain in the middle of the roundabout (they have roundabouts at almost every intersection here) right in front of where downtown officially begins.)
Arrival
Tuesday, September 19, 2007
When I walked into my new room here in Aix-en-provence at 10:30pm, it had been twenty-three hours since I left my room back in Coquitlam. Considering I only got about four hours of sleep on the plane and four hours the night before (in order to be able to sleep on the plane), I’ve wanted to sleep all day. Now it’s midnight, I’m unpacked, and I’m wide awake.
We’ll say that my trip started yesterday when the plane started… then stopped. We were all ready to go waiting on the runway fifteen minutes early to take off. El capitano comes on and tells us maintenance wants to have a look at something, so we’re just going to pull back into the terminal. Murphy’s Law at its best, I suppose. An hour and forty-five minutes later, we were back on the runway for take-off. We made a stop in Calgary to pick up another 100 people, and while sleeping on the plane, I had a dream that we stopped again in Ottawa where I called a friend who ended up being too deathly sick to come see me. Strange dream.
The big debate when I was booking my ticket with Zoom Airlines was to go for “premier” or “economy”. Wait a minute, that wasn’t a debate. I’m a student. I booked the cheap flight. As it is, all that $200 difference gets you is a seat in one of the front ten rows; juice when the economy gets water; good-looking flight attendants in their twenties instead of the retired cops named Heidi that you’ll find in economy; a flamboyant pretty-boy asking you if you’re comfortable; a peppy, blond, twenty-something toothpick serving you moist towelettes with mini tongs; a little extra luggage allowance (I must admit, that would have been nice. Thanks for paying for that overweight luggage for me, mom!); and five inches of extra legroom.
I was a witness to all this “special treatment” that the premier seats were getting because I was in row eleven—right behind them! I should say “right behind”, because there was a big division between the premier and economy seats. If you’re following, you can see what this means: not only did I have a lucky five extra inches of legroom, I had a whole four extra feet!! I was also right there at the door for when the plane landed. I was the first one off and the first one through the maze-like chains set up to get to the passport officers while the others were stuck in the maze like lab rats.
Despite leaving almost two hours late, we miraculously arrived on time. I should clarify. We landed on time. It took us an hour to wind our way through the runways, park in the terminal, get off the plane, cram onto “busses” that were more like platforms on wheels, and be taken on a thirty-second drive to the terminal from where we could still see the others getting off our plane. I would have preferred the five-minute walk. Even with the abundance of legroom, my legs were extremely stiff.
After grabbing my bags, I took the CDGVAL, a train to get to another part of the airport where the TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse [high speed]) train station was. I bought my ticket, and two hours later, after spotting a few camouflage-wearing nineteen year-olds (guys and girls!) patrolling with machine guns strapped to their chests, I hopped on the three-hour train to Aix. I followed that with a fifteen-minute bus ride to get downtown, and a walk to get to my residence. I ended up being turned around down the wrong street (a very nice street—I hope to do some exploring tomorrow!) and some Brazilian guy now living in Aix was kind enough to ask if he could help with directions. After figuring out that I was just heading the wrong direction on the right street, he insisted on helping me take my suitcases and walking me to the residence, and I insisted he not.
Thank goodness there was someone at the residence so I could get keys. When I couldn’t find anyone to even let me into the rez, I was starting to think which park bench looked the most comfortable. After thirty minutes talking to Everybody Loves Raymond’s older brother’s identical twin, Jean-Claude, I finally was handed the keys to my room. The conversation with him could have been a lot shorter, however, for one, he has a huge st-st-st-stutter, and secondly, he insisted on telling me every detail of every room that had yet to be filled. Basically, they’re all the exact same rooms, it just depends whether you want to be near a noisy doorway, or have bright neon lights glaring into your window from La Grande Casino across the street. (Those who visited my Leblanc room on a Friday night know why I chose the latter.) My only request was a room on one of the upper floors so that if I eat too much cheese here in France, at least I’ll work some of it off by climbing six flights of stairs every day. So I lugged my suitcases up those stairs to the fifth floor (apparently, French elevators don’t work at night), and entered my room.
It’s about 9m2 and it’s pretty bare. I will fix that. It’s got a sink in it (which is more than I can say for my Leblanc room) and a bidet. I’m not sure what I’m going to use that for considering the bathroom is down the hall. I had a teacher who told me to use it to do my laundry and then hang it out the window. Apparently that’s what all the students in France do because the laundry’s too bloody expensive. Did I mention that we’re supposed to keep toilet paper in our rooms and take it with us when we go to squat over the seatless co-ed toilets?! Nice, eh? The street I’m facing isn’t that busy. Once in a while you can hear a scooter buzz by, and the blue neon lights from the “Pasino” really aren’t that bad (I have no idea why they call it a Pasino instead of a Casino. If I find out, I’ll let you know.
Well, I’m excited. This is going to be a fun year. Writing this has also done the trick. I’m exhausted. I doubt any of my other posts will be this long. It has just been a long day.
When I walked into my new room here in Aix-en-provence at 10:30pm, it had been twenty-three hours since I left my room back in Coquitlam. Considering I only got about four hours of sleep on the plane and four hours the night before (in order to be able to sleep on the plane), I’ve wanted to sleep all day. Now it’s midnight, I’m unpacked, and I’m wide awake.
We’ll say that my trip started yesterday when the plane started… then stopped. We were all ready to go waiting on the runway fifteen minutes early to take off. El capitano comes on and tells us maintenance wants to have a look at something, so we’re just going to pull back into the terminal. Murphy’s Law at its best, I suppose. An hour and forty-five minutes later, we were back on the runway for take-off. We made a stop in Calgary to pick up another 100 people, and while sleeping on the plane, I had a dream that we stopped again in Ottawa where I called a friend who ended up being too deathly sick to come see me. Strange dream.
The big debate when I was booking my ticket with Zoom Airlines was to go for “premier” or “economy”. Wait a minute, that wasn’t a debate. I’m a student. I booked the cheap flight. As it is, all that $200 difference gets you is a seat in one of the front ten rows; juice when the economy gets water; good-looking flight attendants in their twenties instead of the retired cops named Heidi that you’ll find in economy; a flamboyant pretty-boy asking you if you’re comfortable; a peppy, blond, twenty-something toothpick serving you moist towelettes with mini tongs; a little extra luggage allowance (I must admit, that would have been nice. Thanks for paying for that overweight luggage for me, mom!); and five inches of extra legroom.
I was a witness to all this “special treatment” that the premier seats were getting because I was in row eleven—right behind them! I should say “right behind”, because there was a big division between the premier and economy seats. If you’re following, you can see what this means: not only did I have a lucky five extra inches of legroom, I had a whole four extra feet!! I was also right there at the door for when the plane landed. I was the first one off and the first one through the maze-like chains set up to get to the passport officers while the others were stuck in the maze like lab rats.
Despite leaving almost two hours late, we miraculously arrived on time. I should clarify. We landed on time. It took us an hour to wind our way through the runways, park in the terminal, get off the plane, cram onto “busses” that were more like platforms on wheels, and be taken on a thirty-second drive to the terminal from where we could still see the others getting off our plane. I would have preferred the five-minute walk. Even with the abundance of legroom, my legs were extremely stiff.
After grabbing my bags, I took the CDGVAL, a train to get to another part of the airport where the TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse [high speed]) train station was. I bought my ticket, and two hours later, after spotting a few camouflage-wearing nineteen year-olds (guys and girls!) patrolling with machine guns strapped to their chests, I hopped on the three-hour train to Aix. I followed that with a fifteen-minute bus ride to get downtown, and a walk to get to my residence. I ended up being turned around down the wrong street (a very nice street—I hope to do some exploring tomorrow!) and some Brazilian guy now living in Aix was kind enough to ask if he could help with directions. After figuring out that I was just heading the wrong direction on the right street, he insisted on helping me take my suitcases and walking me to the residence, and I insisted he not.
Thank goodness there was someone at the residence so I could get keys. When I couldn’t find anyone to even let me into the rez, I was starting to think which park bench looked the most comfortable. After thirty minutes talking to Everybody Loves Raymond’s older brother’s identical twin, Jean-Claude, I finally was handed the keys to my room. The conversation with him could have been a lot shorter, however, for one, he has a huge st-st-st-stutter, and secondly, he insisted on telling me every detail of every room that had yet to be filled. Basically, they’re all the exact same rooms, it just depends whether you want to be near a noisy doorway, or have bright neon lights glaring into your window from La Grande Casino across the street. (Those who visited my Leblanc room on a Friday night know why I chose the latter.) My only request was a room on one of the upper floors so that if I eat too much cheese here in France, at least I’ll work some of it off by climbing six flights of stairs every day. So I lugged my suitcases up those stairs to the fifth floor (apparently, French elevators don’t work at night), and entered my room.
It’s about 9m2 and it’s pretty bare. I will fix that. It’s got a sink in it (which is more than I can say for my Leblanc room) and a bidet. I’m not sure what I’m going to use that for considering the bathroom is down the hall. I had a teacher who told me to use it to do my laundry and then hang it out the window. Apparently that’s what all the students in France do because the laundry’s too bloody expensive. Did I mention that we’re supposed to keep toilet paper in our rooms and take it with us when we go to squat over the seatless co-ed toilets?! Nice, eh? The street I’m facing isn’t that busy. Once in a while you can hear a scooter buzz by, and the blue neon lights from the “Pasino” really aren’t that bad (I have no idea why they call it a Pasino instead of a Casino. If I find out, I’ll let you know.
Well, I’m excited. This is going to be a fun year. Writing this has also done the trick. I’m exhausted. I doubt any of my other posts will be this long. It has just been a long day.
Monday, September 17, 2007
À France on y va...
My goal is to keep a blog this year; so here I am! I want to do this because I can't stand writing in a diary only to myself. I have no motivation for that, which, as I've discovered, results in many missing memories later on. Therefore, in the hopes of maintaining some form of documentation for this year, and also in the hopes of people visiting my site every now and then, I am going to attempt to keep it updated.
At the moment it's almost 4am, and after leaving Ottawa last week, I'm here at home in Coquitlam, BC, starting a blog instead of finishing up my packing for later today. That being said, I'm going to stop here and go finish up so I can sleep a little before the sun rises! In any case, tonight's lack of sleep will be good because I plan on trying to sleep as much as I can during my 11 hour flight tomorrow evening. I don't like flying. I looooove travelling... but I don't like flying.
At the moment it's almost 4am, and after leaving Ottawa last week, I'm here at home in Coquitlam, BC, starting a blog instead of finishing up my packing for later today. That being said, I'm going to stop here and go finish up so I can sleep a little before the sun rises! In any case, tonight's lack of sleep will be good because I plan on trying to sleep as much as I can during my 11 hour flight tomorrow evening. I don't like flying. I looooove travelling... but I don't like flying.
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