We essentially staked out a nice piece of grass (yes, grass, it exists in France!) and sat there for four or so hours, eating large amounts of French cuisine, most of it in supermarket packaging, and lazing around in the warm, bright sun. Like a good Australian I had sunscreen in my bag, which I applied (because nothing could be more embarassing than being the Australian in Paris with a September sunburn) but for once I wasn't the only Australian! There was another guy there who caused quite a stir when he mentioned his country of origin, as everyone knew where I was from (and had probably heard my laments about being the only non-European there that day) and immediately turned to me to tell me I was no longer alone! After a brief conversation establishing nothing more than our cities of origin, though, he left to sit with his friends and disappeared sometime after. Fine with me, really - I came to France to make friends with Europeans (well, Frenchies), not more Aussies!
Despite today being the second of the Journees du Patrimoine, and one or two people having expressed interest in the nearby monuments that I'd mentioned, the heat of the summer sun made us all lazy, and instead Martin and I sat and talked for ages with some German girls who were there (So. Many. Bloody. Germans! And some Italians this time, too) and messed around with my juggling balls and Aussie flag (we're converting Martin to an Australian - I have photos with the flag. Next time he has to bring his German one for me!) We eventually headed home around five, you know, before I fell asleep right there on the lawn, which I did debate doing. But I had an hour-long trip home and with the bus strike still on I figured the earlier, the better. That, and some catching up to do with posting for Peloton Cafe (since Jarrod's on holidays and I'm actually in the right time zone to post the European stuff from the World Championships promptly).
(Tuesday) I've just got back from my first trip to the laverie - the building laundromat. The new washing machines are now installed and working, but not so the dryers...suffice to say, my bathroom - nay, my APARTMENT - now looks like a Chinese laundry. I've got the windows wide open in the hopes that everything might dry before morning, even though it's a little chilly in here now.
Yesterday was my final day of freedom before I started my stage intensif - my two-week French crash course at Sorbonne. I therefore headed down to the Carrefour to frivolously spend my euros on totally needless items. I now have a full set of crockery and cutlery - knives, forks, spoons, teaspoons, bowls, plates and mugs for four - in my still purple-and-green kitchen, and a clock radio with iPod connectivity for my bedhead. It's beginning to look less like a transient hotel around here and more like my actual place of residence for the next year of my life.
I then hopped on the metro and headed down to Sorbonne to meet Martin for lunch - hey, not a lot else to do, so why not see my friends? Martin, however, had gotten himself screwed by Sorbonne again. Just like his and Anas's enrolment in European studies last week, Martin had rocked up yesterday for his English-speaking world enrolment only to be told it was today, even though our list of enrolment dates clearly says...yeah, whatever. I'm learning that you pretty much ignore anything you're 'officially' told around here, and before you say it, Dad, I doubt getting things in writing would help. Knowing this place, they'd probably look at it and swear black and blue that they can't help, they don't speak French!
Martin having gone home, I had a leisurely late lunch by myself and paid a visit to a couple of offices at Sorbonne - both closed, of course - before returning to the metro and heading back home. I'd picked up some green beans at the Carrefour earlier and wanted to go to the supermarket for some ingredients to cook an actual meal. Fresh veg seems to be a rarity in France - they seem to favour bulk-buy frozen, and what there is in the Fruit & Veg section in limited and not great quality. I never thought I'd say this, but...I miss Coles.
With another full backpack of stuff only I could accumulate, I headed home to put my newly-purchased chopping board to work (oh! Right. Forgot to mention that. I have a chopping board!). Despite my body's gastronomic apathy, the plan was pasta with veggies in white sauce and that's exactly what I did. I'll be making risottos in no time, I'm sure. I packed my bag for tomorrow (today, Tuesday, whatever), set the alarm on my nice new alarm clock and finished reading 'Anne of the Island' in bed.
Today started off pretty well - though my alarm clock failed to go off (apparently it was set for 8am, not 7), both my body and my phone alarms certainly did. Up, shower, dressed, breakfast and out the door by quarter to eight. It wasn't until I was standing in the metro station purchasing my ticket that my worst nightmare, the thing I panic about every day came true. There are many things which, if I'd forgotten them, I could have dismissed with a shrug, but forgetting your wallet can prove a little more troublesome, especially when it leaves you without enough money for a metro ticket.
A frantic dash home on my already sore and sweaty hands nearly caused me a panic attack. If my wallet wasn't in my bag and it wasn't on my desk then someone MUST have stolen it! A rare moment of clarity saved my sanity, and I meekly fished it out of my dirty clothes bag, where I left it last night after an abortive attempt at clothes-washing. I put enough money for my metro ticket in easy reach and then raced (I'm not kidding. It was a Paralympian effort) back to the metro station. But the damage was already done. I was definitely going to be late.
Arriving at Sorbonne just past 10 minutes late, it struck me as ironic that the one day I'm late is the one day Sorbonne is actually on time. My friends were nowhere to be seen, and things were about to get worse. No-one knew where my class was! Everyone I asked assumed I was part of DELF/DULF (please don't ask me, I still don't know) and tried sending me to the DULF testing in the main amphitheatres. As I got more panicked and distressed my teary eyes and choked-up voice elicited some sympathy from the people I asked, and half an hour later, now 45 minutes late, I found myself on the third floor staring at the class lists for the stage intensif. Despite what Martin had told me I wasn't in the same class as Paul, but I set off anyway for room 302.
It was empty.
The teacher cornered me as I turned to go back up the corridor. "You're very late," she chastised.
"I got...I was been....lost, I...I'm really sorry, can I come in now?"
Thankfully she let me into a classroom on the OTHER side of the corridor, gave me a seat and the class notes and went back to giving everyone the listening test answers. I think I redeemed myself in her eyes a little five minutes later when I was able to tell her that department 93 was Seine-Saint-Denis while she was writing down all the Ile-de-France departments for us. I failed to mention the fact that I live there, though.
I'm aware that I was a) largely asleep, and b) not trying very hard when I did that French ability test last Thursday, but I still didn't think that I did too badly on it. I was still of that opinion when I sat down in class this morning. One would assume that 'E' would be either the top or bottom group, and since I know I'm not good enough to be in the top group that meant E was the bottom. This belies, however, the fact that my friend Paul in group D doesn't have very good French and was terrified by the work my class did this morning which I found pretty basic. Coupled with the fact that my out-loud reading had only one pronunciation error (and I think I can be forgiven for not knowing that in French you pronounce the 'p' in 'psychiatrique') and I only had two errors in dictation, I am definitely beginning to think I'm in the wrong class (tomorrow we're doing Coco Chanel and 'fashion' - yay! :P). This is, of course, assuming there is any logic whatsoever to the way the classes have been put together, which I'm beginning to think there isn't. If I sneak a French language copy of 'Around the World in 80 Days' from the library into class and read it under the desk, do you think the teacher will notice?
After class Lisanne and Martin were boring and bailed (Lisanne had...something to do, and Martin was expecting the Internet connection guy that afternoon), so Paul and I had lunch and then headed for the library. We have a library on campus and I had no idea! He surfed the Internet looking for answers to his home Internetconnection problems while I hobbled between the aisles, almost overcome with emotion at the sight of a library dedicated almost wholly to foreign-language literature (Victor Hugo, Jules Verne, Isabel Allende, Pablo Neruda, here I come!) and French linguistics (grammar of mediaeval French? Yes please!). Paul has now learned why no-one takes me into libraries anymore...or bookshops...there's one across the street.
He had an appointment at the bank at three, so we made our way south from Sorbonne to find the bank. Having nothing better to do, and given Paul's French isn't so crash-hot, I came along for company and translation. When the bank guy realised I was explaining the details to Paul in English after he said them in French, though, he volunteered to switch to English since it was Paul's stronger language. One painless half-hour later and Paul is one attestation d'hebergement (proof of housing) away from having a bank account. Needless to say I'm also getting my rear into gear on that account (pun intended :D).
We'd seen a beautiful church just a few blocks from Sorbonne on our way to the bank, and Paul was happy enough to detour a little on our way back to the metro. Needless to say, it was gorgeous. Eglise Saint-Medard (Wikipedia it, it exists) is not too big and beautifully built. I think I just found my new hiding place.
I'll add a few photos before I go to bed - it's getting late and Anne of Windy Poplars really is good reading. Just pray that I don't have any homework for tomorrow's class - actually, if there is, I can probably do it while the teacher calls the roll, unless...anyone know the average monthly wage in Australia? (If you're wondering, it's 1300euro/m in France, 1000/m in Italy and 300/m in Croatia...and I'm doing this class why?)
 |
| The Metro at Stalingrad - line two is partly above-ground |
 |
| Parc Monceau in Montmartre (and Belgian Rob making faces) |
 |
| Me exploiting Martin's camera-shyness |
 |
| Our newest convert! Now for the Vegemite... |
 |
| French pique-nique/brunch/food |
 |
| Sorbonne girls! Of course, she's German :P |
 |
| Though she's not - Italians have funny rolling accents in French! |
 |
| More sunsets from my window |
 |
| The cafe near Sorbonne that Martin, Anas and I frequent |
 |
| Censier-Daubenton Metro station |
 |
| First 'cooked' dinner at my place! |
 |
| My purple and green theme - like it? |
 |
| So many Victor Hugos, so little time... |
 |
| Pont-Neuf metro is also called 'Le Monnaie' |
 |
| Tonight's sunset - this makes up for not seeing every sunrise |
No comments:
Post a Comment