Lille-ies of the Flandres fields

Sorry to keep everyone at home hanging for so long, but it's been a long and busy but worthwhile three days!  I'll try and catch you up on everything that's happened before my planned (but not necessarily likely) early bedtime.

I was up early on Sunday morning to shower and pack, as I was catching a train from Gare du Nord at a quarter to 11. The final stage of the Circuit Franco-Belge was finishing on Sunday afternoon in Tournai, a small town in Belgium on the French border, near the French city of Lille, and I was planning to be there.  I headed off to Gare du Nord with a full bag on my back to buy a youth discount card and tickets for the TGV to Lille and the connecting train across the border to Tournai.

Since I had been planning to catch a later train, I wasn't as early as I would have liked, and  I arrived at Gare du Nord with just under half an hour until the train departed.  This may not sound like a problem but the place is more like a rabbit warren than you'd believe, and despite having figured the station out somewhat on my last visit, this time I wanted tickets not for a regional train as last time but for an international train, which seemed an effort bound for disaster.

This time, however, I had some knowledge of how the station, tickets and transport systems worked to my credit, with my rapidly improving French my secret weapon.  With 15 minutes to go I found myself standing in the queue for international tickets with no idea if or how the hell I was going to make the train.  There was a vague possibility that international tickets required a prior reservation, in which case I really was screwed either way.

Luckily the train gods decided to smile on me.  Just in time I got to a window with a very understanding lady who knew exactly what I wanted and was able to process it fast enough that me and my much-reduced ticket (youth discount card was the best idea I've had all week) were headed for the train with four minutes left.  This time I knew how to composter (validate) my ticket and jump on the train, ignoring the part about allocated seats as the train wasn't full and no-one seemed to need the seat I was in.

The TGV - train à grand vitesse - is strange to say the least.  These things go at 300km/h, and though you know you're travelling at a high speed as the scenery whizzes past, much higher than normal, it doesn't look or feel like anything faster than a regular old V/Line train.  It seemed like we'd barely gotten on the train - in fact, it was nearly an hour later - when we arrived in Lille, on the Belgian border.  I jumped (hobbled) off the train, walked to the adjoining platform and boarded my connection to Belgium, because that's just what you do in Europe.  My head still has a little trouble getting around how casually one crosses international borders on this continent.

20 minutes of beautiful French-Belgian countryside later, since I have no idea where France left off and Belgium began, I was at the station in Tournai, barely an hour and a half after leaving Paris.  Unfortunately Europe's moved on a bit since Le tour du monde en 80 jours was written and you no longer even have the option of getting your passport stamped when you arrive somewhere new, so I had to forgo my decorative proof of entry into the country and instead celebrated my arrival by falling down the stairs.  A couple of kind passers-by helped me up and guided me out of the station and, with rejoinders to be more careful in future ringing in my ears, I limped down the street on my crutches towards the finish line of the race.

Again, I will try to avoid as much as possible from talking cycling on this blog, seeing as I have a whole other blog for my fangirling and journalistic pursuits, but I will speak a little of Tournai (and just a very wee bit of cycling).  Tournai is in Wallonie, the southern, French-speaking part of Belgium, which has never made any sense to me given the Flemish-speaking northern part has the wonderful French name of Flanders.  Admittedly the Flemish name of 'Vlaanderen' does sound a little less French, but then again so does Wallonie.  Europe really is hopeless at this 'countries' thing.

Wallonie and France are almost indistinguishable - in fact, most European geography and scenery pays no attention to international borders, instead following linguistic, historic or simply nature's borders.  Wallonie and France share almost all of the above, so the gawking done in Tournai was more or less the same gawking I've been doing for the part three weeks in France.  The train station was a huge, amazing  construction of stone, and the town had the same narrow, cobbled streets, same feeling of being steeped in history, same surroundings of farmland and green countryside that I've already come to know and love in France.

Just a short cyclistic interlude, since I can't resist - Orica-GreenEDGE, the Australian ProTeam, was racing the Circuit as well, and by dint of some excellent timing, careful stake-outs and a bit of sheer dumb luck, I managed to get a photo with Jens Keukeleire, one of my two GreenEDGE cuties, and also a photo and a chat with GreenEDGE soigneur extraordinaire Joachim of Backstage Pass fame.  For those non-GreenEDGE fans who are reading, you need to see this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eG6VCBx9kfc&list=UUV9vvIQ8gxceqrBkn-P7rlw&index=74&feature=plcp followed by the first few minutes of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0dBfubmcGCE&list=UUV9vvIQ8gxceqrBkn-P7rlw&index=72&feature=plcp to understand why this was so exciting.  Everyone on GreenEDGE was chosen so they'd 'fit' the ethos and ideals of the team, and let me just say they did a bloody good job.  Everyone, from the riders and DSs down to the soigneurs and mechanics has the same larrikin sense of humour, regardless of their nationality.  Joachim was happy to chat with me for a couple of minutes, talking about the upcoming races, and before I left he gave me a GreenEDGE musette full of spare GreenEDGE water bottles.  Needless to say, these two encounters totally made my day.

Race over (read the Maillot Jaune article if you want more info), I headed back to the train station and bought a ticket for the next train back to Lille, taking extra care on the stairs this time.  My friend Julien, who lives in Lille, met me at the station there, and together we headed to the youth hostel where I was planning on staying the night.  Luckily, as the Internet had promised, I found a bed in a girls' 5-dorm, where I met two of my new dormmates, an American called Shaylee and a Russian called Ana.  Both girls were staying in the youth hostel while they searched for permanent accommodation in Lille - Ana for her Master's degree, Shaylee for her English teacher assistant program.  I dropped off some of my stuff and Julien and I headed out to get dinner.

After sampling a Dutch yummy called croustillants, the predecessor of the modern doughnut but distinctly lacking on the jam front, we ended up at an Alsace restaurant near the station that Julien had recommended.  We took our time over the funny Alsatian versions of pizza we'd ordered, Julien quite amused by my reactions to the very pungent French cheeses on mine.  I believe I have some way to go on that front before I can be considered properly French.

Heading back to the youth hostel around 11 - yes, I said we took our time - I sat down in the foyer to get stuck into my article on the day's race and start sorting through all the photos.  Having exhausted my camera battery during the presentations, I was pleased to discover that Past Me had had the presence of mind to pack the camera charger, too.  By half-past midnight I'd finally sent off my article and a selection of photos to my editor, and I headed upstairs to change and perform my ablutions in the bathroom I found.

I got a bit of a surprise to find myself apparently locked out of my dorm, but a bit of quiet tapping succeeded in rousing the girl nearest the door to let me in (and yes, I'm aware that 'quiet' tapping is sort of redundant when your intention is to wake someone).  Realising I was a new addition, Chloe promptly introduced herself and shook my hand by way of greeting, as though it wasn't one o'clock in the morning.  Like Shaylee, Chloe was in Lille for a teacher's assistant program, though hailing from Britain rather than the US.  This was when I also learned my first lesson of youth hostelling - make your bed when you arrive, not before you go to sleep, though a blanket was all I really needed.

I woke at 6am when Shaylee and Chloe left for work, and then fell asleep again only to wake at 9.  In a panic, I pulled on my clothes and raced down for breakfast just in time to catch the end of the apple juice, hot chocolate and baguette with Nutella.  Upstairs, I packed my bags, said goodbye and good luck to Ana and went back downstairs to check my emails and look up bus tours of Lille.  I made my slow, limping way over to the Tourism Office to buy a ticket for the 12pm tour, my right ankle still sore from yesterday's tumble, and then detoured to the Post Office.

On my way back to the Tourism Bureau I felt obliged to stop in at a little place called Le Chat Bleu, which bore the further inscription 'Chocolatier'.  I needed no further invitation.  I explained my awed gawking at the sheer amount of sweet, sweet goodness to the chocolatier behind the counter by telling him that chocolateries don't exist in Australia - a statement which of course gave carte blanche to speak to me in English!  Naturally I needed a couple of samples, and the chocolatier was quite happy for me to take some photos of all the ones I was leaving behind.  As he very rightly pointed out, "free advertising".  It turns out the store got its name from the two blue Persians cats who greeted visitors to the original franchise, owned by a pair of sisters in Le Touquet in 1912.  Cool.

The bus tour of Lille, while normally something I'd avoid like the plague, was definitely a good choice for a girl with a gimpy legfootstump.  I listened to the English-language commentary through my headphones as we drove around the town, soothed by the lovely British accents that informed me that Lille had been around for a super-long time, had all kinds of exciting things happen there and was essentially way cooler than anything back home in Australia. I've been getting this message a lot in France.

Afterwards I headed to the station to buy a ticket from Paris, discovering that the train left from Lille's other major train station.  An excuse to use the Lille metro!  Their metro is freaky in that they have unmanned trains.  Unmanned.  No driver.  The whole thing is automated.  It's scary.  Of course, that means that they have heaps of excess personnel who instead man the metro station and check every ticket manually, despite the ticket barriers.  I managed to buy myself a ticket and boarded a metro train to take me one stop from the old station Gare Lille - Flandres to the newer Gare Lille - Europe, where I bought some lunch and got stuck into Paul Kimmage's book Rough Ride that I'd downloaded onto the Kindle earlier that morning.

It was only an hour back to Paris, during which time I alternated between reading voraciously and staring out the window at the countryside, watching and dreaming.  It really did seem an inordinately short amount of time before we were pulling in at Gare du Nord again.  I hauled my bulky bag, now with extra weight from the GreenEDGE bottles, onto the RER bound for Le Bourget.  Off the train, hauled myself home and collapsed with a cold drink.  Most of the rest of the day, and most of today too, was then spent in little administrative tasks - unpacking, emails and the like.  Thus ends Epic Adventure 1.  Stay tuned for Episode 2 next weekend - but before then, I start classes at the Sorbonne...

The TGV to Lille from the Intercity to Tournai

The Tournai train

Typical French-Belgian countryside

The train station in Tournai - how cool is it?

Me with Joachim Schoonacker!!

Me with Jens Keukeleire - what a cutie!

The Lille Opera House

The Lille Post Office - well, that's what it is now

Le Chat Bleu

Yummy!

So much sugary goodness...

 

Statue from the official lullaby of Lille

Gare de Lille Flandres

The funny unmanned metro

Gare du Nord and my train (I think)

My spoils from Joachim :D

These French are crazy!

It's enrolment day here at Sorbonne - for my departments at least. I've got a couple of hours until my next enrolment session (the painful one) so I'm investing my time exploring Sorbonne, asking questions and trying to learn all the things that I think I'll want to know. Right now that means learning how to use a French keyboard.

I've been trying to find out where in the university I can print, knowing there's gotta be somewhere to print things unless every teacher in the university wants hand-written assignments. I found myself in a little computer room on the fifth floor with printer facilities (which I _think_ use my Moneo card. Don't hold me to that, though). I'm now practising my typing on a crazy French keyboard which has more than halved my typing speed. The full stop needs the shift key, the 'a' is where the 'q' should be (and the 'q' is where the 'a' should be) and the bloody 'm' is over by the Enter key so I keep going to type 'my' and it comes out as ',y'!

It appears I can also buy Sorbonne branded clothing (to match my Monash t-shirts) at the student life office, so I think I'll go and knock on their door next. Anything to stop me either being bored or worrying about enrolments and timetables. I've taken to prefacing everything with 'I'm an international exchange student, I have no idea what's going on!'

The next evening...

I'm going to keep this as short as I can since I would really like to go to bed early for once. 

So...now that I have my own qwerty keyboard again (as opposed to the 'azerty' used above) let's see how fast I can type...

It was excitement central here on Rue Rigaud yesterday! When I left for uni there was a cop car parked on the footpath with two coppers staring at a couple of burnt-out cars. Guess someone let the firebug loose last night. As I headed out again yesterday evening there was a massive tow-truck hauling away an equally massive regular truck which I guess had broken down on our street. And all in one day!

Yesterday's enrolment wasn't too painful. If you discount the fact that I was there for five hours (not all of which time was spent on enrolments) then the actual process wasn't too bad. The worst part was that the whole thing was a pen-and-paper version of the Monash enrolment process - and I'm told that, like at Monash, the French students at Sorbonne get to enrol online too! But for the exchange kids, oh no, pen and paper is good enough.  Lucky I'm good at Tetris when it came to creating my timetable! 

Anyway, I now have a mostly problem-free timetable for semester one (three hours on Wed arvo, three hours on Thurs arvo and two hours on Fri morning - definitely a lot of backpacking in my future!) and a semi-problematic timetable for second semester which, thankfully, I have a whole semester to try and fix.

I headed home just before 4, grabbing a light lunch on the way - yes, it was that kind of day. A trip to the boulangerie (which has become like a daily routine, in true French fashion) for a baguette and I went home for an hour, eating some dinner and catching up on emails and the like. Then I repacked my bag and headed out again - I had plans

When most 19-year-olds say they have plans on a Friday night, you'd probably assume a party, or drinks with friends. Both were on the agenda for my friends yesterday, and I was hoping to drop in on their pre-drinks at Lisanne's house if I had time. No, this particular 19-year-old had plans to spend her Friday evening at - Le Louvre.

The Louvre is free on Wednesday evenings to EU nationals under 26, and on Fridays evenings to anyone under 26, these being the nights the museum is open until 9.45pm. Of course, as I confirmed yesterday, the museum is free all year round to people under 26 who live in the EU economic area, regardless of nationality. A flash of my passport and I have access to one of the biggest, coolest museums in the world at any time. I'm down with that.

I invaded the Ancient Egyptian section with incredible single-mindedness and speed, since my prior trips to the museum barely afforded me enough time to glance at the things I really wanted to see. Two hours and I had seen all the architecture, mummies, tombs, jewellery, samples of writing, animals, amulets, statues and so much more on the ground floor of the Louvre. My feet/foot/foot-and-stump were/was beginning to hurt by now, so I was thinking of heading back to the Caroussel for a hot chocolate, a little souvenir shopping and a trip home (now being a little too tired for a trip to the 5th to see Lisanne and the others). I glanced at the map to check the way out and my jaw nearly hit the floor.

I'd been looking at the Egyptian section on the ground floor.

The other half of the collection was on the first floor.

Two hours and I'd only seen half of one collection!

Covering the whole Louvre is going to take me quite a while longer. Needless to say, I think I see a Friday night tradition developing here. That is, when I'm not on a plane or train to Italy, Spain, Austria, Germany, Belgium, Holland, or...pretty much anywhere in Europe, really.

Since the tunnel between Metro station Palais Royal-Musee du Louvre and the Louvre Caroussel closes at 8.30pm, so I headed out the exit up to rue Rivoli. Unable to find the street level entrance to Palais Royal-Musee du Louvre Metro, I went for a casual stroll alongside the river Seine (as you do, on crutches, on a Friday night) until I reached Pont Neuf Metro station in Saint-Germain-des-Pres and headed home for the night.

Today? Well, I went clothes shopping, since I need some winter warmies for Paris, and wrote a lot. A lot. And it is now DEFINITELY bedtime. Fingers crossed for a post from Lille tomorrow night!

Yes, it's the pyramids

The Old Royal Palace from inside the Louvre pyramid

Sphinx, anyone?

Casually sketching Egyptian statues at the Louvre on a Friday night...

Steles covered in hieroglyphs

Osiris, Horus and some pharoah

Cool, huh?

A super-creepy rendering of Osiris (who was actually a pretty nice guy)

Totally want these shabtis for my afterlife!

Does this mummy look ready to wake up at any moment to anyone else?

Hey, Mum - does this look like the one I made in high school?

Bes, the dwarf god, god of mothers and childbirth.  No, I'm serious

A wall full of steles

(L-R:) An ibis sarcophagus and an ibis mummy

Inside the Louvre after dark

The Louvre/Palais Royal at night

Smurf lollies!

My new white fedora, the aptly-named Blanche

Mum, show this to Dad and Kiri - I couldn't resist!

Anecdotes

So I found out yesterday why Sorbonne Uni doesn't have a big fancy sign at the entrance.  It does.   The university building takes up the whole block, but most of the south side is currently undergoing renovations, and the main entrance to the uni is conveniently obscured by all the scaffolding in the courtyard out the front.  It's actually quite a nice entrance, too - big letters saying 'SORBONNE UNIVERSITY', the EU and French flags and some pretty-coloured wall panels.  I feel a little bit diddled now.  Fingers crossed they finish building before I leave so I can get a photo for posterity's sake!

First trip to the Le Bourget post office yesterday - and I escaped alive!  Strange, though - their post office is also its own bank!  It wasn't too far to walk, either - I keep forgetting that Australia is BIG, and Paris is small, and therefore maps lie to me when they tell me how far things are.  I re-learned this fact today (as I'm sure I will many, many times) when I headed for the post office in the 5th arrondissement, also nice and close.  It's all so little!

My other handy discovery of yesterday - turns out my bank, which is a nice, two-minute walk from uni via the shortcut I've discovered, also has branches and ATMS in Le Bourget (between the pharmacy and the post office, I forget exactly where, but it's a short walk, naturally) and at Place du 8 mai 1945 in La Courneuve, where I change from the metro to the bus.

Speaking of buses, they're crazy around here!  Even the bus drivers themselves fail to see the logic of a 20-minute wait at the terminus for three buses to then leave at once.  My poor, unmathsy brain is also bamboozled by the way the trip to the metro in the morning (during peak hour, please note) takes the five to 10 minutes that it should to cover the relevant distance, yet said trip in the other direction at 3pm takes at least 20 minutes (from when I started counting...).  It's actually faster at 5pm, I've found!  They also build buses differently here - most of the centre of the bus is given over to standing room, which makes sense since every bus I've been on while here has been so full it was standing room only...

Our teacher mentioned something about the metro last week that I've noticed applies elsewhere as well.  All rubbish bins in the Paris metro, and in many public areas around Paris (even footpaths in Le Bourget) are clear plastic bags hanging from a metal ring.  Why?  So that you can't hide a bomb in the rubbish.  I kid you not.  Paris rubbish bins are designed not to be conducive to terrosist attacks.  It's a little sad that we live in a world where you have to think this way.

I've also discovered that, according to the popular opinion of my friends and Erasmus peers, group E is thought to be the top class is our French stage intensif.  Apparently, A is the bottom and E is the top.  Needless to say, I'm more than a little confused and concerned by this concept...though I'm equally concerned by the other way round!

Mind you, they told me this after I complained how bored I was because my class was really easy (today we conjugated the two most common verbs in the four most common tenses!  Yay!).  Hmmm......France makes NO sense at all.

At the CROUS canteen - Rafael, Lisanne, Martin

My chocolate mousse (and Luis Felipe's arm)

...then the world would be a much more sober place (pun intended)

The bus stop in La Courneuve

Sorbonne's library, which has a HUGE collection of Spanish and French literature...

Wandering east through Le Bourget

A new take on 'Beware of the Dog' ('mechant' means 'wicked')...

The clear plastic bag bins - see story above.

The west end of Rue Rigaud, looking east

The clinic next door from the west side

The bottom of Rue Santeuil (where Sorbonne is)

Guess where...no, you'll never guess...

Paris, city to love

One of my professed aims in choosing to move to Paris was to see if I could learn to love the city the way the rest of the world does.  Paris never caught my eye the way other cities did, and given its reputation I wanted to see if it could given enough time.  After a day like yesterday I think it's safe to say that after five years I am finally learning to truly appreciate and enjoy Paris.

With my head-cold relegated from hindrance to nuisance, I decided to head into Paris on this cloudy Sunday and sip hot chocolate on the Seine - a cliche, I know, but considering I moved to Paris three weeks ago I've seen surprisingly little of Paris, and I haven't had a single chocolat chaud yet - not one that wasn't entirely machine-made, anyway.

I decided on Pont Neuf as the best bet, being one of the two metro stations on line 7 located beside the Seine and located in the oldest, therefore most developed and touristy area.  I figured I should easily be able to find a cafe where I could sit and sip hot chocolate for an hour while I watched the activity on the Seine before heading quietly home to nurse my cold.

I should have known that nothing involving me ever goes that smoothly.

Pont Neuf is a real misnomer - the so-called 'New Bridge' is actually the oldest of the bridges in Paris that crosses the Seine.  Along with the Pont Marie, the other Seine metro stop on line 7, Pont Neuf actually crosses to the Ile-de-la-Cite, the island in the middle of the Seine on which Notre-Dame-de-Paris is located, before reaching the south side of the Seine.  The location and the excitement were too much for me, and, naturally, I began wandering.

I finally settled on a little cafe bistro on the south side of the Seine, with amazing views of the Pont Neuf on my left, Notre Dame to my right and the tall, imposing buildings of the Ile-de-la-Cite directly before me.  Having consumed what was definitely an inferior cup of Paris hot chocolate, I thanked the funny adorable waiter and explored the south side of the Seine for a while, walking alongside the river and looking at the various riverside merchants - you know, the ones you see in all the stereotypical Paris pictures.  I wandered back across the Pont Neuf and took a short walk on the Ile-de-la-Cite, before finally settling on a cheese crepe at a little tourist shop on the north side of the Seine for lunch.

I wanted to learn to love Paris, if I could, but I didn't want to fall into the soppish (soppy + foppish) adoration of most tourists simply because it's 'Paris' without any justifiable reasons for my infatuation.  Luckily Paris is willingly to provide ample reasons if you're willing to look for them.

Paris is an elegant city, with more history than you can shake a stick at and plenty of class to go with it.  Unlike most cities, though, Paris wears her age wonderfully well, resembling a dignified lady who grows old gracefully, her many years beautifying her rather than burdening her.  London, too, has the sense of being improved by her years rather than ruined, but London, like the British, is much more stiff and reserved, with a very regal air that reminds you she is London, jewel of the crown that is the British Isles.  Paris wears her beauty with a much more casual grace, allowing you to fall at her feet and admire her rather than commanding our sincere but restrained worship, as does London.

But Paris also has an air of 'more than meets the eye'.  For a city so much worshipped by strangers who simply run around to the Eiffel Tower, Sacre-Coeur and the Arc de Triomphe and claim to be in 'love' with the place, Paris seems to have a soft spot for those more sincere admirers who are willing to look for the undiscovered places and walk the untrod paths to find the real history, the real stories, the real atmosphere behind the much-worn stereotype and appreciate the real city.  In other words, I think Paris likes my skepticism.

Looking west from Pont Neuf towards the Eiffel Tower

Napoleon's tomb, Les Invalides (left) and Eiffel Tower (right)

Boats along the river (inoperative, sadly)

Looking east towards Pont Neuf from the cafe

Looking west at Notre-Dame-de-Paris

Ile-de-la-Cite and my chocolat chaud

Street vendors along the Seine - guess who has a new painting?

Pont Neuf from water level

Mum, explain what 'sapeurs-pompiers' means to Dad, please...

The 'Palace of Justice' on Ile-de-la-Cite

Looking north from Ile-de-la-Cite...

...and looking south

East along the Seine - it beats the Yarra hollow