| Hey everyone,
So. What can I say? While I’m sure there are legitimate reasons
for fact I didn’t write for 5 months, I can’t think of them. But honestly, I started this letter about a
month after I sent the first one, instead of studying for an exam. And then again, a week later, in a laundromat
(all the French ladies doing their laundry were giving me the kind of look they
reserve for crazy North Americans who refuse to be parted from their computers,
even while doing laundry). And then I
tried again, about a month later, on a train from Nice to Paris. And then my New Year’s resolution was to
write every month. So here we are, two
months later, and there is no way I am not sending this letter tonight. So if there’s only half a letter, please
understand that I tried my best.
But now I’m faced with the
task of trying to summarize six months (six months! How did that happen?) of my life in a vaguely
interesting way. Since I wrote my first
letter, I’ve gotten a residence permit, I’ve opened a bank account, I’ve
purchased and assembled bookshelves, I’ve complained about the erratically
drippy plumbing in the bathroom and done nothing about it. I’ve even bought an armchair. I’m quite impressed with myself.
Last time I left you all, I
was sitting on my bed listening to my roommates talk in the hall (Adrien and I
sleep in the rooms that used to be the living room and dining room, so we eat
and generally congregate in the hall.)
Flash five months ahead, and not much has changed except that our
apartment is messier and there are 5 more French voices at the moment because
Adrien’s sister and four of her friends are sleeping in Adrien’s room for the
weekend. He swears it’s not that
uncomfortable. Apparently Eloi’s got two
friends coming to stay tomorrow so that will make 10 people in our good sized,
but by no means palatial, apartment. I
only hope the floor holds.
While living with two young
guys has its downsides (I never knew that showers could get so dirty so
quickly), I genuinely like these guys. They’re friendly and dorky and open to my
bizarre North American culinary habits.
Cornbread wasn’t so successful, but they love peanut butter. However, I made a peanut butter and jam
sandwich one day and looked up to see them looking at me as if I’d just pulled
a live monkey out of the fridge and slapped it between two slices of
bread. Apparently it’s a taste sensation
that doesn’t transcend the cultural divide.
I, on the other hand, have absolutely no problems eating fondue as often
as they’re willing to make it. Which is
surprisingly often.
I love this apartment. I love my wonderful room. I love all my furniture that I’ve bought all
myself. I love the neighbourhood
market where people seduce me into buying their food by calling me a “charmante
jeune femme.” I love the butcher who
will not only tell me how to cook the meat I buy from him, but that I really
should make a “petite compote de pomme” to eat with it. I have even embraced the two hour lunch hour
and the impossibility of finding anyone ever who can give you any of the
information you’re looking for. I’m still
not as fluent in French as I’d like to be eventually, but I can sigh “mais,
c’est comme ca” with the best of them.
The school system, though,
can still be mind-boggling foreign. For
one thing, French students enter university in specific degree programs and
they are required to follow a rigid set of courses, rather than choosing from a
selection of acceptable courses. Which
was no problem from my point of view, because I’m allowed to take whatever I
want from any of the departments. Except
that, because no one but misguided exchange students ever do this, it is nearly
impossible to get comprehensive information on courses offered and even if you
do manage to figure out where and when and what is offered, you still have to
run all over the bloody building trying to register for courses in all the
separate departments which all have different procedures and forms and
deadlines. And once you’re registered in
the classes, they might loose your form or forget to put you on the class list.
So constant vigilance is
required. Plus the secretaries’ sole
goal in life seems to be avoiding contact with students they might possibly be
able to help. I got yelled at by one in the Monde Anglophone department (the
WORST secretaries) for asking her to switch my registration from one course to
another. This involved her opening two
binders, throwing out one sheet of paper, and checking one box on another
paper. And is technically what she gets
paid to do.
But in all honesty, school
is great once you get used to the fact that things are much less structured
than in Canada. I’m taking an assortment of courses from all
over – a bunch from a department called European Studies that combines history,
politics and economics, along with some translation, literature and
linguistics, plus an Italian course, which I took on a whim but I’m finding it
rather difficult to learn a 3rd language in your 2nd
language. I’m just glad I decided
against Arabic.
Classes are fairly relaxed –
there are no textbooks, just suggested reading.
Students are pretty much expected to make sure they understand all
aspects of the subject that the Profs touch on in class. It’s interesting – because Paris III is a
public university, there are no entrance requirements and only 500 euros of
fees every year. So in class you can
really tell the difference between the driven students and the ones that are
there because, well, why not?
I can’t honestly say that I
fall into the first category, but I’ve passed all my courses and frankly,
that’s good enough for me. Well, ok, so
I didn’t pass economics, but since I only went to 30% of the classes and I
didn’t go to the exam, I consider it a voluntary non-pass, rather than a
fail. Don’t study economics in
French. Trust me; it doesn’t make it
more interesting. You just have to deal
with decoding all of the abbreviations for French social benefits. I even managed a good mark in linguistics,
but then, my prof is Albanian and the rest of the students are snobby Parisians
with snobby Parisian accents, so I think she took pity on me as a fellow
accent-challenged foreigner. But
honestly, am I supposed to be able to hear a difference between “eu” sound in feu and the “eu” sound in fleur?
Crazy frogs.
But enough about
school. It’s not really why I’m here. Besides learning how to embrace second-hand
smoke as the normal and proper accompaniment to every social activity in Paris (my university was only
made smoke-free last year), I’ve been testing my skills in other
cigarette-loving European locales. Before
Christmas I made a trip to Dijon to meet up with my friend
Sarah, who is studying in Lausanne in Switzerland, solely because Dijon is halfway between Lausanne and Paris. While you can buy an astounding assortment of
mustards in Dijon and we did get to visit a
proper cave (I can now say I’ve been
in the presence of 300 barrels of brandy), I would not recommend Dijon as a particularly
interesting destination.
I also went down to Nice to
my friend, Emeline, who was my sister’s French exchange student in high school,
and her family. When I got there, the
palm trees were already bedecked in Christmas lights, which I have to admit,
took some getting used to. It would be
rather idyllic to live in a world where palm trees and Christmas are not
mutually exclusive ideas. Actually, it
would be pretty nice to live somewhere with palm trees, period, screw
Christmas. We drove to Monaco one evening to go to a
night club - it’s a very weirdly out-of-touch-with-reality place. I have never seen so many half-consumed and
forgotten champagne bottles as I did that night.
At Christmas, my family came
to see me. We went back to Nice for a
few days where we spent December 23rd picnicking in the sun in t-shirts. Why on earth does anyone actually live in Canada? Then we spent New Year’s with some nutty
hippie English ex-pats in the South-West eating more and drinking most. The festivities included a bonfire and
fireworks which was probably not the smartest idea, considering the copious
amounts of champagne and oysters consumed by all. But the house is still standing and eyebrows
grow back.
Tragically I had to write exams
right after Christmas, which I thought rather inconsiderate of the
administration. But then we got another three
weeks of vacation, which made up for it.
After scaring my parents by threatening to go to Morocco alone, I left for Vienna, which is a very classy
city. And I have to say, I think
Viennese cafes give Parisian ones a run for their money. I also saw this apartment building in Vienna, designed by an artist
named Hundertwasser, which basically looks like a combination of Hobbiton and
Whoville on acid. It’s fantastic. He’s my new art crush.
From Vienna I went to
Prague, which is also a beautiful city that makes you feel like you’re walking
through a history lesson, but an acquaintance from school met me there and I
learned the important lesson that I’d rather travel alone than with a boring,
irritating person. Plus I got a cold. So Prague was a bit of a mixed
experience. Mercifully, I moved onto Rome with better health and
better company. I met Sarah and a bunch
of her friends from school which was terrific.
I returned to Paris just
long enough to do a load of laundry and make an appearance at school before
heading off again, this time to Italy for the Olympics and Carnevale with Eric,
someone I met a couple of times at UBC, who is in Lausanne for a semester. Luckily we discovered that we get along and
had a fantastic two weeks.
We saw the Swiss-Canada
men’s hockey game, which we lost (a fact that my Swiss roommates have brought
up), but was worth it for the insane Swiss fans and for that fact that we were
sitting just in front of the drummer from the Barenaked Ladies. After Turin, we made our way leisurely
to Venice, stopping in Genoa, Cinque Terre (maybe the
most beautiful and idyllic place on Earth), Pisa (the tower is the ONLY
thing on offer, but even though it’s unashamedly touristy, climbing it was one
of the coolest things we did. Because of
the tilt, it’s like walking in a funhouse), Florence (home to my new favorite
restaurant ever – Mario’s – where you get seated with strangers and eat
fantastic, simple food for cheap), and Sienna.
Venice was definitely the highlight though.
Carnevale is wild, though
not as hedonistic as in former days. The
current incarnation of Carnevale is a revival that dates from 1980 – the original
Carnevale was outlawed by Napoleon. So
to a certain extent, it’s a tourist attraction more than a genuine Venetian
party, but nonetheless impressive. There
are people who must spend millions on costumes – the coolest thing was the
cafes along Piazza San Marco that are decorated circa the 18th
century, filled with people dressed accordingly. And just when you’re convinced that it’s too
touristy and too crowded, you stumble on a square where you can buy pasta e
fagoli off the street and listen to impromptu street music, and you remember
that Italians know how to party.
The best museum of the trip
was definitely in Venice – the Peggy Guggenheim
museum (Solomon’s niece) which is basically her private collection of
contemporary art displayed in the palazzo she lived in for 40 years. It’s a mind-blowing collection (Picasso,
Miro, Dali, Pollock, Kandinsky…it goes on) and all the staff are
English-speaking interns. Future job
anyone?
I returned to Paris and found out that the students
at my school had been striking for nearly a week over a piece of legislation
and blockading the building, so classes havd been cancelled. And they’re still at it – they’re manifesting
their public voice just outside my apartment as we speak. I’ve heard it might turn into a general
strike, which is less fun because all the public transport and a lot of the
businesses would shut down. But it would
be wrong to live in France and not experience a
general strike. It would actually
probably impossible to avoid one.
So it’s been fairly relaxed
since I got back from Italy – wining and dining with
politicians, that sort of thing. If you
get the chance to attend a diplomatic function, I highly recommend it. Gordon Campbell paid an official visit to Paris and all BC students in Paris were invited to a reception
in at the Canadian ambassador’s residence.
Very swanky. Lots of free
champagne and a great lunch.
The length of this e-mail is
officially obscene so I think I’ll end here.
I promise to try and make these shorter and more frequent, rather than
taxing your patience and attention span with monsters like this one. As always, I’d be delighted to hear about
what you’re all up to and any news from Canada that I should know about
(basically I know that Harper won and the men’s hockey team lost, and that’s
about it.) Hope you’re all well and much
love,
xoxo Amy
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