Today I decided to take a break and begin the delectable process of reading the blog Orangette from it's very beginning. And after a few minutes I happened upon this post about Paris and her love of it.
Prose poem for Paris, inspired by an ugly tart
"Oh Paris, your pastry is perfect. I’ll eat you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Paris, you kept me up until 3am and made me shy on the phone. You laid a blanket in the park and spread it with saucisson sec and fromages qui puent and we drank Champagne at two in the afternoon on your big day. Paris, I watched the eight o’clock news alone in your apartment and ate chaussons aux pommes in line at the movies, and I bought your small modern packages delivered by the small trucks that block your ancient streets.
Oh Paris, you gave me skirts with rabbit-fur trim and danger-sexy designer bags on sale. You told me I looked like Cleopatra. You said j’ai envie de te faire l'amour and you brought me croissants in the morning, and oh Paris, you looked away when I walked your streets red-eyed, holding a wad of Kleenex. You made me say stupid things and stay too long and we were so lonely together, you and I.
Paris, now you’re making me write like Allen Ginsberg in "America."
Oh Paris, Sundays in Seattle aren’t the same"
- Orangette August 2004
Somehow she captures my sentiments. Exactly.
So I am in love with french. I am in love with France. And I am most definitely in love with Paris. Somehow Vancouver doesn't even begin to compare.
After all the conversations where people told me that I would appreciate Vancouver more once coming back, make me feel a little bit disappointed, because I most definitely miss the winding cobblestone streets, the daily markets with their fresh cheese and candy stalls, and the gorgeous feeling of speaking french all the time.
Gah.
I need a little french love in my life right about now.
So thank God for Fridays and long weekends, because the day is almost over and I will be getting a tiny bit of french love with a glass of wine over dinner with some of the people I love the most in this world; My family.
Santé!
Friday, July 31, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I am back
So that's it, is it? Two months in Europe and then it's over? Just like that?
Well thankfully for me, I fell in love, so it just can't be the case.
Oh wait just one moment. Hold your horses, my friend. Did you think I was referring to a MAN?
Now really, why would you ever think such a thing? (Other than the tiny fact that I do happen to Adore (with a capital A) a lovely french accent and might have an infatuation with men from other cultures, and that I am a hopeless romantic myself...)
Me and Olivier in the south of France
But carrying on... If you so insist. I will tell you "our" story. But, of course, starting with our first encounter.
And before I begin- Do. Not. Even. Start. To. Think that this will be some monotone drone-like love story. This is in fact LOVE we are talking about. Not a word you just throw around, now do you? With or without a man, love can involve passion, and riffs, and everything else involved in a torrid affair. Even rocky beginnings...
So pay close attention.
To be frank, me and France didn't exactly start out on the best of terms... No, I would definitely say we did not. Because in fact, I arrived in Paris ready to pick up my lovely blue backpack, and lo and behold, the luggage ring stopped before my bag arrived. For about a minute I stood there, in shock, thinking that there must be some sort of mistake. It couldn't possibly be. No it just couldn't be. My luggage. Did they. Oh no. That could never... happen... to... me....
Funny thing, that logic. It was SHIT.
... Because I most definitely did not have my backpack (later to be named Olivier. Pronounced, of course, with dee frrrrenche accentttte)
... Because I most definitely spent my first day wandering through Paris with a plastic bag full of all my lovely carry-on things.
... Because I ended up brushing my teeth for 5 days with a teeny weeny tooth brush in a bag that had the label "we care" on it. Which of course caused me to wonder whether they cared enough to GET ME BACK MY F-ing BAG!!!!!!!
So yes. I arrived in Paris. Sans baggage, and avec un sac en plastique. I arrived at la gare du nord located in an area I wouldn't exactly consider to be the most magical and romantic part of Paris...
A little park near the train station
I also managed to arrive on a Holiday. A day where people in France are renowned to strike and make a fuss (actually when do the french NOT make a fuss... that would be a better question). So there I was, hot, sweaty, jet-lagged and carrying a plastic bag overflowing with all the nonsense I decided to take on the plane.
Yet, somehow I made my way up to Monmartre, got propositioned by some young man, took in the views of Paris, and then with a sigh of relief got on the TGV direct to Strasbourg.
A photo taken by a lovely old parisian man at les buttes de Monmartre
It was a quick first encounter and not one that sent sparks flying, or butterflies a-fluttering. But who knew? Who knew that they very soon would be.
Cause I gotta tell you, this heart hasn't stopped fluttering since I had to leave on that jet plane.
Well thankfully for me, I fell in love, so it just can't be the case.
Oh wait just one moment. Hold your horses, my friend. Did you think I was referring to a MAN?
Now really, why would you ever think such a thing? (Other than the tiny fact that I do happen to Adore (with a capital A) a lovely french accent and might have an infatuation with men from other cultures, and that I am a hopeless romantic myself...)
Me and Olivier in the south of France
But carrying on... If you so insist. I will tell you "our" story. But, of course, starting with our first encounter.
And before I begin- Do. Not. Even. Start. To. Think that this will be some monotone drone-like love story. This is in fact LOVE we are talking about. Not a word you just throw around, now do you? With or without a man, love can involve passion, and riffs, and everything else involved in a torrid affair. Even rocky beginnings...
So pay close attention.
To be frank, me and France didn't exactly start out on the best of terms... No, I would definitely say we did not. Because in fact, I arrived in Paris ready to pick up my lovely blue backpack, and lo and behold, the luggage ring stopped before my bag arrived. For about a minute I stood there, in shock, thinking that there must be some sort of mistake. It couldn't possibly be. No it just couldn't be. My luggage. Did they. Oh no. That could never... happen... to... me....
Funny thing, that logic. It was SHIT.
... Because I most definitely did not have my backpack (later to be named Olivier. Pronounced, of course, with dee frrrrenche accentttte)
... Because I most definitely spent my first day wandering through Paris with a plastic bag full of all my lovely carry-on things.
... Because I ended up brushing my teeth for 5 days with a teeny weeny tooth brush in a bag that had the label "we care" on it. Which of course caused me to wonder whether they cared enough to GET ME BACK MY F-ing BAG!!!!!!!
So yes. I arrived in Paris. Sans baggage, and avec un sac en plastique. I arrived at la gare du nord located in an area I wouldn't exactly consider to be the most magical and romantic part of Paris...
A little park near the train station
I also managed to arrive on a Holiday. A day where people in France are renowned to strike and make a fuss (actually when do the french NOT make a fuss... that would be a better question). So there I was, hot, sweaty, jet-lagged and carrying a plastic bag overflowing with all the nonsense I decided to take on the plane.
Yet, somehow I made my way up to Monmartre, got propositioned by some young man, took in the views of Paris, and then with a sigh of relief got on the TGV direct to Strasbourg.
A photo taken by a lovely old parisian man at les buttes de Monmartre
It was a quick first encounter and not one that sent sparks flying, or butterflies a-fluttering. But who knew? Who knew that they very soon would be.
Cause I gotta tell you, this heart hasn't stopped fluttering since I had to leave on that jet plane.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
bike-tastic
One thing that I have learned in Berlin is that they like their bikes. There are special lanes, on sidewalks and on streets. They have their own red, yellow and green lights. People even listen to the bell. This is a city made for biking.
So today I rented a bike (a pink one, to be specific) and explored the city, it's streets, and it's very essence. At first I was timid, not quite sure of the rules of the road. Do I have to signal here? Should I be on this side? But soon I gained confidence and began having fun. Should I take a left, a right, or go 'gerade' (straight)? Those were the big decisions of my day.
Somehow and very much uninentionally, these random decision led me into the Festival der Kulturen (Festival of Cultures) with it's aclectic music, millions of booths filled with a wide variety of food, ranging from pakoras to crepes and of course some german beer stands in between. I listened to music while sitting on my bike, I people watched, and I bought a scarf. It was very much a fabulous 'happen-chance' encounter with Berlin and it's cultures.
But then I was off again. This time I knew a general end point: Schloss Charlottenburg. So I made my way through the city streets, and then the Tier garden, and eventually happened upon a Flea Market (I recently learned that the name comes from the fact that they used to have monkeys who would pick the fleas out of peoples hair. Interesting eh? Europe is teaching me quite a lot...) that I had read about on the web but had forgotten when and where it was held. It was delightful! And my bank account can take a sigh of relief as I do not live in Berlin (tragically so) and that I had limited space in the bag that was strapped to my bike. But I did come away with a 'pearl' necklace. And if you're wondering, of course they're real...
So I spent a day on a bike, wizzing up and down streets, in the rain and out of it. I eventually made it back to my hostel, drenched but with a smile on my face because this city makes me feel alive.
So today I rented a bike (a pink one, to be specific) and explored the city, it's streets, and it's very essence. At first I was timid, not quite sure of the rules of the road. Do I have to signal here? Should I be on this side? But soon I gained confidence and began having fun. Should I take a left, a right, or go 'gerade' (straight)? Those were the big decisions of my day.
Somehow and very much uninentionally, these random decision led me into the Festival der Kulturen (Festival of Cultures) with it's aclectic music, millions of booths filled with a wide variety of food, ranging from pakoras to crepes and of course some german beer stands in between. I listened to music while sitting on my bike, I people watched, and I bought a scarf. It was very much a fabulous 'happen-chance' encounter with Berlin and it's cultures.
But then I was off again. This time I knew a general end point: Schloss Charlottenburg. So I made my way through the city streets, and then the Tier garden, and eventually happened upon a Flea Market (I recently learned that the name comes from the fact that they used to have monkeys who would pick the fleas out of peoples hair. Interesting eh? Europe is teaching me quite a lot...) that I had read about on the web but had forgotten when and where it was held. It was delightful! And my bank account can take a sigh of relief as I do not live in Berlin (tragically so) and that I had limited space in the bag that was strapped to my bike. But I did come away with a 'pearl' necklace. And if you're wondering, of course they're real...
So I spent a day on a bike, wizzing up and down streets, in the rain and out of it. I eventually made it back to my hostel, drenched but with a smile on my face because this city makes me feel alive.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Note To Self: Eurail is NOT free
I learned my first lesson today. And yes it was today. Albeit probably 2AM or 3AM in the morning in the Czech Republic, sleeping on the pull out chairs that make a bed (which I only realised about 4 hours into the train ride...thank god the person beside me decided to get some rest...)on the night train from Vienna to Berlin.
OK. OK. OK. I'll start from the beginning.
I was trying to be the smart eurail traveller on a budget. I was trying to save money and time, so I changed my train reservation from the wednesday day train to the tuesday night train. In theory, not only did I save the cost of a night's accomodation but I also gained a day in Berlin. Of course, as I later learned, at an ungodly hour, everything seems to work out in theory, but practice is a whole other ball game.
So don't get me wrong, I read my eurail booklet advidly, and paid careful attention to the details. So when I bought my first reservation (for the day train) I specifically asked 'does this train go through the Czech Republic because my pass isn't valid there' and the man just smiled and said 'oh no, it is through Germany'. So I walked away with my reservation in hand. But later on, realising that I was NOT being economical, and I was NOT saving time, I did what any other sane person would do, I walked back to the train station and changed my ticket to the night train. And of course, failed to realise that the night train DID in fact go through the Czech Republic.
So there I was, in the train as it was leaving the station, having small talk with the person across from me, and slowly realising that he was going to a town in the Czech Republic, and NOT in Germany. 'The Czech Republic?!?!?' I asked. Knowing full well that with yes as the answer I would now have to pay for a ticket while travelling through an uncovered country on my pass.
So that brings me to waking up to the shaking head of the controller, along with the phrase 'not valid here' at 3AM. All I can say is that at least it only cost me 24 Euros. But also, thankfully the person next to me was nice enough to lend me 50 cents, because the controller did not have enough euro change to break my hundred, and surprise surprise I did not have Czech money. (and yes, I was an idiot. carrying around a hundred...who does that anymore?)
So next time I will double check. I will enounciate clearly, point repeatedly at my pass before making reservations. And perhaps then, and only then, will I be able to sleep peacefully on my next night train.
Tschusss from Berlin!
OK. OK. OK. I'll start from the beginning.
I was trying to be the smart eurail traveller on a budget. I was trying to save money and time, so I changed my train reservation from the wednesday day train to the tuesday night train. In theory, not only did I save the cost of a night's accomodation but I also gained a day in Berlin. Of course, as I later learned, at an ungodly hour, everything seems to work out in theory, but practice is a whole other ball game.
So don't get me wrong, I read my eurail booklet advidly, and paid careful attention to the details. So when I bought my first reservation (for the day train) I specifically asked 'does this train go through the Czech Republic because my pass isn't valid there' and the man just smiled and said 'oh no, it is through Germany'. So I walked away with my reservation in hand. But later on, realising that I was NOT being economical, and I was NOT saving time, I did what any other sane person would do, I walked back to the train station and changed my ticket to the night train. And of course, failed to realise that the night train DID in fact go through the Czech Republic.
So there I was, in the train as it was leaving the station, having small talk with the person across from me, and slowly realising that he was going to a town in the Czech Republic, and NOT in Germany. 'The Czech Republic?!?!?' I asked. Knowing full well that with yes as the answer I would now have to pay for a ticket while travelling through an uncovered country on my pass.
So that brings me to waking up to the shaking head of the controller, along with the phrase 'not valid here' at 3AM. All I can say is that at least it only cost me 24 Euros. But also, thankfully the person next to me was nice enough to lend me 50 cents, because the controller did not have enough euro change to break my hundred, and surprise surprise I did not have Czech money. (and yes, I was an idiot. carrying around a hundred...who does that anymore?)
So next time I will double check. I will enounciate clearly, point repeatedly at my pass before making reservations. And perhaps then, and only then, will I be able to sleep peacefully on my next night train.
Tschusss from Berlin!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Love Hate Relationship
Things I love about Germany:
1. They speak German
I had moments during our Laval BBQ (where somehow I ended up being the only non german speaker there…not planned that way, I swear) where I was delighted to hear, for the first time, my friends speaking their first language. To see the difference in how they spoke, and especially how much, was quite fun. Sometimes I joked with Valerie (quebecoise who speaks very very good german) that sometimes I couldn’t believe that german was actually another language. It was almost surreal that they could just talk. Awe and amazement I tell you.
2. They drink A LOT of beer
I kid you not. You might think that beer drinking is a stereotype, but oh no, they actually do drink it throughout the day. They drink it at beergardens (that open at 10AM), at local breweries or on terraces to watch their famous fussball, or even for breakfast with weisswurst (white sausage) and pretzels. I myself had this famed breakfast, and I attest to the fact that it was quite delicious. In Bavaria, do as the Bavarians do; drink beer, not water.
3. Fussball
Perhaps I am just staying with a stereotypical Bavarian who loves beer and fussball (he plays at least 3 times a week), but I think he is the norm, and not the exception. Right now the pressure is on- who will win the championship. All 18 teams will play at the same time next Saturday, and only then will they know who has won (their championship is cumulative and they do not have playoff’s like we do)
4. Englischegartens
It is one of the biggest parks in Europe, and I believe it spans 12km by 2km… It is outstanding.
5. Amazing transit system!
Although you can virtually get anywhere on the S bahn, the U bahn, the bus or the tram, you are gorged for your buck (or euro in this case). Although to be fair, Vancouver is almost the equivalent, but with far less options…
Things I dislike about Germany:
1. There are no vegetables and potatoes don’t count!
I think that the diet in Bavaria consists of lots of meat, lots of potatoes, and perhaps a little bit of cabbage on the side. Yesterday I had a salad and it was amazing. I don’t think salad has ever tasted so good.
2. Expensive expensive alcohol
All I ever hear about germany (and Europe) is the cheap alcohol. But what they fail to mention is that yes, you can get cheap beer, wine and hard alcohol in the store, but once you enter a bar, you pay A LOT! Of course, it hurts especially when I convert it to Canadian dollars.
3. Leading me to my final point: the euro
I have officially stopped translating what I spend into Canadian because otherwise, this would merely be a downward, spiralling slope into a dark abyss. Ok. Perhaps that was a little melodramatic but the euro does not make me feel warm and fuzzy inside…
1. They speak German
I had moments during our Laval BBQ (where somehow I ended up being the only non german speaker there…not planned that way, I swear) where I was delighted to hear, for the first time, my friends speaking their first language. To see the difference in how they spoke, and especially how much, was quite fun. Sometimes I joked with Valerie (quebecoise who speaks very very good german) that sometimes I couldn’t believe that german was actually another language. It was almost surreal that they could just talk. Awe and amazement I tell you.
2. They drink A LOT of beer
I kid you not. You might think that beer drinking is a stereotype, but oh no, they actually do drink it throughout the day. They drink it at beergardens (that open at 10AM), at local breweries or on terraces to watch their famous fussball, or even for breakfast with weisswurst (white sausage) and pretzels. I myself had this famed breakfast, and I attest to the fact that it was quite delicious. In Bavaria, do as the Bavarians do; drink beer, not water.
3. Fussball
Perhaps I am just staying with a stereotypical Bavarian who loves beer and fussball (he plays at least 3 times a week), but I think he is the norm, and not the exception. Right now the pressure is on- who will win the championship. All 18 teams will play at the same time next Saturday, and only then will they know who has won (their championship is cumulative and they do not have playoff’s like we do)
4. Englischegartens
It is one of the biggest parks in Europe, and I believe it spans 12km by 2km… It is outstanding.
5. Amazing transit system!
Although you can virtually get anywhere on the S bahn, the U bahn, the bus or the tram, you are gorged for your buck (or euro in this case). Although to be fair, Vancouver is almost the equivalent, but with far less options…
Things I dislike about Germany:
1. There are no vegetables and potatoes don’t count!
I think that the diet in Bavaria consists of lots of meat, lots of potatoes, and perhaps a little bit of cabbage on the side. Yesterday I had a salad and it was amazing. I don’t think salad has ever tasted so good.
2. Expensive expensive alcohol
All I ever hear about germany (and Europe) is the cheap alcohol. But what they fail to mention is that yes, you can get cheap beer, wine and hard alcohol in the store, but once you enter a bar, you pay A LOT! Of course, it hurts especially when I convert it to Canadian dollars.
3. Leading me to my final point: the euro
I have officially stopped translating what I spend into Canadian because otherwise, this would merely be a downward, spiralling slope into a dark abyss. Ok. Perhaps that was a little melodramatic but the euro does not make me feel warm and fuzzy inside…
Servus!
Servus! Verstehen Sie? Ohhh du spricht nur ein bischen Deutsch? Ok, ja ja.
Oh wait. You dont speak german? Well welcome to my life over the past few days. I am in Munich staying in Andi’s flat (a friend from laval) discovering Germany and it’s wonders. Just yesterday we borrowed Andi’s mother’s car and drove to Neuschwanstein, first stopping at the Wieskirche. We drove through scenic, curvy and very very narrow roads in an audi3. But it was beautiful despite the clouds and I even managed to get a glimpse of the beginning of the Alps. We also managed to arrive at Neuschwanstein before the clouds and rain enveloped it. It was beautiful and magicial, although our tour guide was less than enchanting. We then drove back to Andi’s parents for typical Bavarian food: Pretzels, bread, meat, cheese, and radishes (fresh from the garden), and of course mustard (to go with the pretzels). So there I was, sitting in a Bavarian home, in a village of 2000 people, surrounded by German, and although I must admit to understanding little to none of what they were saying when they talked amongst themselves, I managed to explain a little bit about myself, and string enough coherent phrases together to make an acceptable, albeit limited, conversation with his parents. Someday I will be able to speak german well enough so I won’t have to look helpless and like a lost puppy on a regular basis. But don’t you worry, I’ve got that look down. Perhaps I will greet you with it upon my return…
Oh wait. You dont speak german? Well welcome to my life over the past few days. I am in Munich staying in Andi’s flat (a friend from laval) discovering Germany and it’s wonders. Just yesterday we borrowed Andi’s mother’s car and drove to Neuschwanstein, first stopping at the Wieskirche. We drove through scenic, curvy and very very narrow roads in an audi3. But it was beautiful despite the clouds and I even managed to get a glimpse of the beginning of the Alps. We also managed to arrive at Neuschwanstein before the clouds and rain enveloped it. It was beautiful and magicial, although our tour guide was less than enchanting. We then drove back to Andi’s parents for typical Bavarian food: Pretzels, bread, meat, cheese, and radishes (fresh from the garden), and of course mustard (to go with the pretzels). So there I was, sitting in a Bavarian home, in a village of 2000 people, surrounded by German, and although I must admit to understanding little to none of what they were saying when they talked amongst themselves, I managed to explain a little bit about myself, and string enough coherent phrases together to make an acceptable, albeit limited, conversation with his parents. Someday I will be able to speak german well enough so I won’t have to look helpless and like a lost puppy on a regular basis. But don’t you worry, I’ve got that look down. Perhaps I will greet you with it upon my return…
Friday, May 15, 2009
finally...
I will be short and to the point: I suck at blogging
There is not enough time or energy to actually put words to feelings, to moments. The ability to capture an experience and to make it sound at all coherent and put together is much harder than it first appeared. So I will attempt to be better than I have been for the first 15 days...
Also because I love paris and you should be informed that I have officially fallen head over heels (well in my case falling apart sandals and shoes that leak) in love with paris.
I will elaborate later on my encounters with paris, hostels, and maps.
until then, much love from munich
There is not enough time or energy to actually put words to feelings, to moments. The ability to capture an experience and to make it sound at all coherent and put together is much harder than it first appeared. So I will attempt to be better than I have been for the first 15 days...
Also because I love paris and you should be informed that I have officially fallen head over heels (well in my case falling apart sandals and shoes that leak) in love with paris.
I will elaborate later on my encounters with paris, hostels, and maps.
until then, much love from munich
Monday, May 4, 2009
From keyboards to choucroute
Je suis bien arrivée en France et à Strasbourg vite-fait après…and I am loving it!
Many things have happened in the last few days, and I will try my best to recount a little bit of my european adventures to you…
The Flight: I should start off with stating that everyone on the plane hated me. Perhaps not for the reasons that might come to your mind immediately…but I was the person that sat in the first row of the plane with tons of room to spare. I could stretch my legs, I could maker myself feel at home by splewing all my stuff on the floor. So yes I was THAT girl. And you can hate me for it even more because I didn’t even reserve a seat, let alone try to get that seat. But you will be happy to know that on my connection from Heathrow to Charles-de-Gaule that I did NOT get to sit in that seat. Instead I had to suffer along with other mortals like you…
The Luggage: OK. Next time you go travelling remind yoursef that, although it RARELY happens, luggage does indeed get lost, especially when you have a transfer … according to AirFrance. That maudite transfer in Heathrow has left me sans vêtements for the beginning of my travels. Thank god for Anna Lia! Because although they do provide you with a little bag that has the slogan“caring more about you” written on it, filled with “useful” things (ok they are slightly useful and help me to not smell…),I still lack cloches… (but really? If they “cared more about me” I would still not be waiting for my luggage from AirFrance, a day later than they said…)
The Choucroute: The first night in France I managed to make it to Strasbourg from Paris-Gare de l’Est, after spending a day waiting for a train that had space for Eurail travellers. But I managed to make the most of my day, by seeing Monmartre, along with the crowds of people, on the French équivalent of Labour day, on May 1st. I managed to miss the crowds striking elsewhere in paris which I guess is a good thing… But I arrived to be greeted by Anna Lia et Jean Pierre and then whisked away to Vendenheim for a delicious meal of chouctroute, topped with alcasien beer and very french cheese. How can it be any more french than that?
The Keyboards: After having struggled to figure out how on earth I was supposed to type on these god-damn keyboards, it was pointed out to me that if I changed the mode to english, I could type as if I was on a normal keyboard. So thankfully I did listen in typing classes in elementary school because I dont have to look down, and get as confused by the q replaced with an a, the w replaced with a z… Now all I need to rectify is the small problem of french auto correct… its amazing what it comes up with…
Anyways, I should eat something before I pass out from hunger. Today we are off to climb the 300 plus stairs at the Cathedrale! Just my little bit of excersice for the day… I’ve even decided to run it…
À bien tôt!
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Hello, My name is ...
I just wanted to say- I can't wait.
I just wanted to say that I get giddy inside at the thought of croissants filled with chocolate, un café (sans lait), and me sitting at a café terrace and maybe, just maybe, passing for a parisienne. Too bad I have a tragically thick English accent and that I can`t lie to save my life. Perhaps I will just have to be a mumbler during my sejour in France, perhaps then they wont notice... or perhaps "this is what a québecoise sounds like" will be my line, or perhaps I'll just go with the whole "Canadians are a lovely bunch, don't you just looooooove me?" ohhh the plethora of options!
And I forgot to tell you about my secret identity. For I shall not be named Miss Emma Fox. Because really, how could anyone believe that an Emma Fox doesn't speak English? If only I looked Mexican enough to try pulling off the whole, oh yeah, my dads the president of Mexico thing. Sadly, I think the red hair, freckles and pale pale skin gives me away...
But anyways, while I am in Germany, I will be "I no English speak aber deutsch- ich spreche deutsch!". So I am searching for an alias. A secret identity. So that no one can be fooled. For if they ask were I come from I can say with pride _______. So help me out here people. Who should I become?
I just wanted to say that I get giddy inside at the thought of croissants filled with chocolate, un café (sans lait), and me sitting at a café terrace and maybe, just maybe, passing for a parisienne. Too bad I have a tragically thick English accent and that I can`t lie to save my life. Perhaps I will just have to be a mumbler during my sejour in France, perhaps then they wont notice... or perhaps "this is what a québecoise sounds like" will be my line, or perhaps I'll just go with the whole "Canadians are a lovely bunch, don't you just looooooove me?" ohhh the plethora of options!
And I forgot to tell you about my secret identity. For I shall not be named Miss Emma Fox. Because really, how could anyone believe that an Emma Fox doesn't speak English? If only I looked Mexican enough to try pulling off the whole, oh yeah, my dads the president of Mexico thing. Sadly, I think the red hair, freckles and pale pale skin gives me away...
But anyways, while I am in Germany, I will be "I no English speak aber deutsch- ich spreche deutsch!". So I am searching for an alias. A secret identity. So that no one can be fooled. For if they ask were I come from I can say with pride _______. So help me out here people. Who should I become?
Monday, April 20, 2009
adios, dear friends
Over the last semester I have been volunteering at The Glebe Centre once a week. So every Monday afternoon I would arrive a little after 1:30 (Fox time, of course) after the long but beautiful walk from my house to the Glebe (a funky area of Ottawa, that can perhaps be equated with The Drive in Vancouver).
The first couple of weeks I was starting to get to know the residents. To say the least, there were a few that I never got to know. On my first day I was told to "bugger off" by a lovely lady, sitting in her wheelchair looking out her window, when I was merely trying to introduce myself and ask if she would like to play bean bags (and yes, you are correct, I did play bean bags... but more on that later). So she was obviously a no go. And then I managed to get into a long conversation with a gentleman that told me about all his aches and pains; the fact that one shoulder was longer than the other, his left foot was 2cm shorter, and that his urination problems explained his close proximity to the toilet at all times. Thus the reason why he wouldn't be able to come out and play. All said in quite the conversational tone, as if I were asking about the weather.
But bean bags, dont let me forget to tell you about the bean bags (because it would truly be your loss if I did...) You see, I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to be doing, so I followed their advice; Beans bags were supposedly quite the hit on the fourth floor, so bean bags it was. I would wheel the residents (at most 5 would be willing to participate) and there they would sit, half asleep, almost dejected, but when it was their turn they would perk right up. They would then attempt to throw the bean bags into one of the 9 holes. And attempt IS the operative word here.
Over time, I transitioned from bean bags to card games. Despite the seemingly boring and mundane games (which proved to be much harder than I anticipated) I managed to get to know them a bit better, as the same ones would come out each week.
Kay was my favorite. She always had her finger nails painted red, and she was rather nice. As I left today, I noticed a sign right beside the elevators that said "Kay's corner" with a little drawing of sunshine. And I thought, yes, that is very much Kay; The person who would blare classical music in her room, who would remember things, recognise me even, and had the cutest smile. She was a pleasure to get to know.
Then there was Hilda. Quite the English women (But contrary to popular belief she does NOT have sugar in her tea. And she calls herself an Englishwoman, eh?). But today, as if she were a broken record, she repeated over and over again, "I'm not very good at cards. You see, me and my husband used to play games, oh you know, but they were quite simple. I'm going to be the dud of this game". It made me think of all the elderly people in my life, and everything that they are going through. I dont think she realised that she had already told me this merely a minute earlier. It breaks my heart.
And last but not least there was Bob. He was always up for a game of cards despite poor eye sight and bad hand mobility. But today, I must say, I saw the kind of person he must have been many years ago. I was telling Hilda and Bob about school and that I was studying Political Science and Women Studies (although I prefer the wording of gender studies). And then he looked up at me, and he smiled mischievously and said "oh, I always study women" and then he laughed. It was worth it all to hear him laugh, and smile a little bit longer than usual.
So my time at The Glebe Centre has been relatively short, but I got to meet a bunch of wonderful people, full of their own quirks and stories. And although I know that in a few hours or a couple of days they will forget me, and perhaps, if I'm lucky, they will remember that "someone" used to come and play games with them, I can leave knowing that at least for a few hours each week I would put a smile on their face, and be a part of their lives.
So goodbye dear friends- I wish you all the best!
The first couple of weeks I was starting to get to know the residents. To say the least, there were a few that I never got to know. On my first day I was told to "bugger off" by a lovely lady, sitting in her wheelchair looking out her window, when I was merely trying to introduce myself and ask if she would like to play bean bags (and yes, you are correct, I did play bean bags... but more on that later). So she was obviously a no go. And then I managed to get into a long conversation with a gentleman that told me about all his aches and pains; the fact that one shoulder was longer than the other, his left foot was 2cm shorter, and that his urination problems explained his close proximity to the toilet at all times. Thus the reason why he wouldn't be able to come out and play. All said in quite the conversational tone, as if I were asking about the weather.
But bean bags, dont let me forget to tell you about the bean bags (because it would truly be your loss if I did...) You see, I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to be doing, so I followed their advice; Beans bags were supposedly quite the hit on the fourth floor, so bean bags it was. I would wheel the residents (at most 5 would be willing to participate) and there they would sit, half asleep, almost dejected, but when it was their turn they would perk right up. They would then attempt to throw the bean bags into one of the 9 holes. And attempt IS the operative word here.
Over time, I transitioned from bean bags to card games. Despite the seemingly boring and mundane games (which proved to be much harder than I anticipated) I managed to get to know them a bit better, as the same ones would come out each week.
Kay was my favorite. She always had her finger nails painted red, and she was rather nice. As I left today, I noticed a sign right beside the elevators that said "Kay's corner" with a little drawing of sunshine. And I thought, yes, that is very much Kay; The person who would blare classical music in her room, who would remember things, recognise me even, and had the cutest smile. She was a pleasure to get to know.
Then there was Hilda. Quite the English women (But contrary to popular belief she does NOT have sugar in her tea. And she calls herself an Englishwoman, eh?). But today, as if she were a broken record, she repeated over and over again, "I'm not very good at cards. You see, me and my husband used to play games, oh you know, but they were quite simple. I'm going to be the dud of this game". It made me think of all the elderly people in my life, and everything that they are going through. I dont think she realised that she had already told me this merely a minute earlier. It breaks my heart.
And last but not least there was Bob. He was always up for a game of cards despite poor eye sight and bad hand mobility. But today, I must say, I saw the kind of person he must have been many years ago. I was telling Hilda and Bob about school and that I was studying Political Science and Women Studies (although I prefer the wording of gender studies). And then he looked up at me, and he smiled mischievously and said "oh, I always study women" and then he laughed. It was worth it all to hear him laugh, and smile a little bit longer than usual.
So my time at The Glebe Centre has been relatively short, but I got to meet a bunch of wonderful people, full of their own quirks and stories. And although I know that in a few hours or a couple of days they will forget me, and perhaps, if I'm lucky, they will remember that "someone" used to come and play games with them, I can leave knowing that at least for a few hours each week I would put a smile on their face, and be a part of their lives.
So goodbye dear friends- I wish you all the best!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Variation on a theme
The making of a scrumptious tortilla is an art. I eat tortilla's on a regular basis, at restaurants and in my own kitchen, always looking for a variation on the same theme. But today as I was trying to decide what to have for lunch I had a brainwave- fresh and simple was what was missing from my traditional tortilla.
So I cut up some fresh tomatoes, grated some aged cheddar(and yes, it does taste better aged), tore some fresh spinach and layer by layer placed it on the tortilla in the already warmed frying pan. And then I lightly (but not too lightly) sprinkled thyme, salt and pepper over the melting cheese. Once it was grilled to perfection I sat out on the deck, in the warm and glorious sun, and devoured my delicious tortilla, now to be my favorite spring (and summer!) quick and easy meal.
I can only imagine what the addition of grilled chicken would do... num num num :)
bon appétit!
So I cut up some fresh tomatoes, grated some aged cheddar(and yes, it does taste better aged), tore some fresh spinach and layer by layer placed it on the tortilla in the already warmed frying pan. And then I lightly (but not too lightly) sprinkled thyme, salt and pepper over the melting cheese. Once it was grilled to perfection I sat out on the deck, in the warm and glorious sun, and devoured my delicious tortilla, now to be my favorite spring (and summer!) quick and easy meal.
I can only imagine what the addition of grilled chicken would do... num num num :)
bon appétit!
Monday, April 13, 2009
And then it started...
Today I had a music moment. a song blaring in my head, I could sing along, and I felt like dancing. The only problem was I was in the middle of a bridge with an extremely large cobalt blue backpack on my shoulders and hips. I felt like shouting out at the cars rushing by:
"hey you!- I'M leaving on a jet plane, don't you wish you were too?"
But I always seemed to catch myself in time. I didn't talk to strangers (my parents taught me well) or make large hand motions pointing at my BIG backpack, followed by awkward attempts at explaining my new found joy to fellow passer-bys or the cars whizzing past. All in all, I think I did quite well at containing my bursting, overflowing, exuberant (insert happy adjective here) excitement at the thought of soon lugging this enormous backpack (with much room for european delights) to le vieux continent. I was already bursting at the seams, so to speak.
So yes, "I'm leaving on a jet plane, my bags are(n't) packed, and I'm ready to go"
bisous, and enjoy the sun
"hey you!- I'M leaving on a jet plane, don't you wish you were too?"
But I always seemed to catch myself in time. I didn't talk to strangers (my parents taught me well) or make large hand motions pointing at my BIG backpack, followed by awkward attempts at explaining my new found joy to fellow passer-bys or the cars whizzing past. All in all, I think I did quite well at containing my bursting, overflowing, exuberant (insert happy adjective here) excitement at the thought of soon lugging this enormous backpack (with much room for european delights) to le vieux continent. I was already bursting at the seams, so to speak.
So yes, "I'm leaving on a jet plane, my bags are(n't) packed, and I'm ready to go"
bisous, and enjoy the sun
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)