Room to myself. TV. Own shower. Free shampoo, towels, a window which opens. Two star Hotel.
LUXURY.
Actually it was kinda creepy for a while ‘cause the whole place seemed to be abandoned apart from the reception downstairs so I was wondering if I was setting myself up for a Psycho experience. I haven’t actually seen Psycho but a childhood upbringing on Gary Larson ensured that I understand the basic plotline. Accidentally agreed to breakfast though which is setting me back and extra 16 Euros :/ but if I take loads then I shouldn’t need to buy anything else tomorrow or (sigh) Friday, quand je vais retourner à la belle Ecosse.
Yesterday I saw two films: Les Petits…somethings, I can’t actually spell the word (ooh, that’ll look good on my British Council Report >.< )and Tourne. As if my various encounters over the past few weeks have not made this clear; the French are way too obsessed with sex and naked women. Or maybe we are not obsessed enough. Who knows. Either way, that’s what a lot of their movies seem to be about. Les Petits Thingies (ooh-er) was a pretty good shout, sad beginning but it picked up. Tourne (French for “tour”) has possibly put me off burlesque for life. I’m sorry, but I will never find a chubby woman with a face an inch thick and false eyelashes pulling tinsel out of her arse in any way sexy. On the other hand I had to love the film – it was half in English, hurrah! Ok, maybe that defeats the purpose of me being here but fuckit I was tired and in no mood to chat in French. I do love the actor in it though, I forget his name, Mathieu something, but he was in Les Derniers Jours du Monde as well and he’s bloody brilliant. And sort of attractive in an oldish could-be-my-French-uncle sort of way. Ok. Maybe that’s just me? I bet a bunch of people have just googled him and are like “Roisin, wtf, he’s got a ‘tache for christ’s sake” They may have a point. I don’t know.
Only had a couple of experiences over the past couple of days. One was when a guy stopped in front of me in his car when I had earphones in.
Me: “Sorry, not interested”
Guy: *says something I can’t hear over music*
Me: “I said I’m not interested”
Guy: *Says something else*
Me: “Oh for Christ’s sake” *takes earphones out* “What?”
Guy (in French): “Do you know the way to the shopping centre
Me (thinking): “Oooh this is embarrassing. I thought he was chatting me up and he’s actually asking for directions” (spoken, much friendlier, in French) “Yeah it’s just straight ahead and on your right”
(short pause)
Guy: “Would you like to go with me?”
……………….*facepalm*
The beggars here are really weird. This old guy in a wheelchair asked me for money and I felt really bad not giving him any…that is, until he justified it with “I need it for cigarettes”…wtf? I’m not gonna give you fag money! There are also little kids at the train station who claim not to have eaten for 2 days. I told them I’d give them 5 euros cause I was feeling generous…only for them to inform me that there was a minimum donation of ten euros. What? They’re beggars! They can’t just slap a minimum donation on! In Glasgow, our beggars are happy with their 20p. You also get Romanians going up to British tourists with signs written in very bad English telling them about their 3 starving children who don’t have a home…ok, so, why did you write this in English when you’re staying in France…? So many scams.
Moving on, it was Bastille Day today which is the French national day. Went to the park with the lovely German girls. I finally know their names – Alessandra and…ok I only know one of their name’s but the other girls is really difficult and ½ ain’t bad. Ok, you’re right, I’m a terrible person. They are very sweet though.
We were planning on going to a massive picnic which was meant to be on at the tete d’or, only to find the park closed for the day. No one knows why…so we spent 4 hours literally doing nothing, lying in the sun. Well that’s a lie, we did film ourselves dancing about to Katy Perry and talking Spanishfor 20 minutes. Ooh the larks. Then we got a bottle of wine and some ham and cheese crepes from Monoprix…I swear, I am actually gonna miss monoprix. It was the only supermarche open today and it was a total lifesaver since I’d lost my water and almost got bloody heatstroke. And damn did I need a glass of wine! Not to sound like a complete alchie or anything but sometimes you just need a drink. Crepes too. Oh my god I am going to miss crêpes. So mere et pere (au bord de la mer XD ) had better get used to me making them for myself during the day and putting non sweet fillings like chicken in them because they taste amazing anyway. Mmmmm I could go a crepe right now…but that’s tiredness talking.
Anyways, we went up to the old hostel, wine and crepes in hand and watched the fireworks. It was pretty spectacular, standing next to the river with the Basalisca(SP) looking like a castle, with the fireworks as well, it looked like the old opening for Disney films. Gorgeous! Then went for a walk after but it was raining and everyone seemed to be heading home apart from kids setting off fireworks in the main square, which was just scary and brought up memories of all those anti playing-with-fireworks ads which come on tv from October the 1st onwards. So I’m back at my hotel now and ready to sleep in my lovely bed, big enough for two but only sleeping one yayyyy XD no one’s getting MY sleeping space. Sheer, undiluted luxury. Now all I need is a bath…
Thursday 15 July 2010
Monday 12 July 2010
"I like noses. And ears. And toes. All the things that poke out”
Monday 12 July
Another day, another creep…this time from Nepal. But I’ll talk about him later.
Ok, well on Saturday night I got no sleep. As in literally no sleep. No idea why. So last night I was in no condition to go and see a movie at ten o’clock…so that was another day wasted. I thought I was gonna go mad with boredom. On the plus side yesterday I got to know some really cool people in the Hostel, none of whom I am able to remember their names…so they shall henceforth be referred to as “Nice German Girl Who Speaks Loads of English” “Nice German Girl Who Speaks Little English But Loads of French” “Guy That Looks Like Someone Though I’d Rather Not Say Who He Looks Like” “Danish Guy Who Loves Films” “And Creepy Nepalian Guy”…hm, maybe this isn’t the best plan but oh well.
Ok, well it started well with us all chatting and eating chocolate brownies (As in, oh my god the NICEST things ever cooked…well done to Ambroise, the French guy who cooked them and whose name I only remember because it reminded me of Ambrosia). I also got a lovely roommate from New Zealand who was absolutely lovely and travelling with her husband, who she has known since high school…..I love couples like that.
Anyway I’m getting side tracked. Napalian guy made an egg curry which I have never tried before and am not sure I ever will again. He keeps touching me…it started out as just high fives, now he keeps trying to take my hand…well then I attempted to go to the film I was meant to see, but to be honest this Tout Le Monde Dehors festival seems to be a load of bollocks; none of the things being shown seem to be set in places which are on the map, i.e. they are all situated in the outskirts, and no one I have actually asked in Lyon seems to know anything about it. And anyway, they were setting this thing at 10 PM on World Cup night…yeah, that’ll go down well when I’m an hour’s walk away from the hostel, its midnight and the Spanish are going crazy. Why did I leave Paris??? Still, today I saw a movie at the Cinema National Populaire called Film Socialisme. I decided to see it because it is apparently avant guardist and not because it had the word “socialisme” in the title….whether or not it was actually about socialism is anyone’s guess, because it’s possibly one of the most boring movies I have ever sat through…like 11 and 12 if you stuck an extra half hour on the end >.<
But hey, I’m getting ahead of myself again! Stayed at the hostel with the final playing in the background, discussing French movies with the cool (and possibly gay) Danish guy and talking about the beauty of Brad Pitt’s face.
“I think that Brad Pitt is possibly the most beautiful man in the world”
“He certainly does have a wonderfully chiselled face”
“He has a great nose. I would love to have that nose. I like noses. And ears. And toes. All the things that poke out”
(Short pause)
XD
Meanwhile Creepy Napal Guy keeps attempting to play footsie with me. It’s really bizarre; he’s got his arm around the lovely German girl who speaks loads of English and at the same time he keeps stretching across to rub my foot with his…so then I budge away in an obvious gesture of non-interest…then when I need to sit closer again to hear the Danish guy properly…there we go, back with the footsie…for chrissakes, words cannot express the severity of my lack of interest in this guy and I have made this very clear. And yet still the wee trooper keeps on…trooping. I could almost be impressed with his dedication if it wasn’t for the fact that he has not a hope in hell and should stick with the lovely pretty German girl who seems not to be creeped out by his creepiness.
Anyways, after the match I announced that I was going to go to bed and attempt to capture that ever evasive sleep…at which point Creepy asked me 4 times to stay, each time with me telling him, very firmly, that I was tired and going to bed…he also keeps touching my waist when he walks past me, and doesn’t seem to get the blatant hint when I push him off and give him my worst look. But the creepiness does not end there, oohhhh no…
This morning I get up and sit down for breakfast with lovely NZ roommate and her husband who left this morning. Having a lovely chat, Nepal guy sits at the next table completely alone. I ignore him and carry on my conversation. I then take my breakfast stuff inside to get them washed…and he follows me. He asks me if I’m pissed off with him and I say no, cause…well I’m not pissed off with him I just think he’s a creepy fuck who should piss off.
Anyways, I’ve got too much stuff in my hands so I put my key down on the table. I turn away, turn back and the key is gone. Of course my initial thought is that he has taken it, but obviously I can’t prove anything so I just say “Where’s my key” to which he replies “It’ll be around somewhere. Why don’t you stay for a drink with me?” I mean, honestly, who has a drink at 7 o’clock in the morning? Ok, don’t answer that. So I tell him quite firmly “No, I’m going to find my key” and go back outside to ask my roommate if I left it on the table (even though I was sure I hadn’t and I was right)
So I went out and replayed then entire story for both the roommate and her husband, and they tell me that apparently during our whole conversation Creepy Nepal Guy did not stop staring at me once…so roommate lets me use her key to get ready and stuff and then I go and get mine changed. I didn’t tell reception my suspicions yet because the woman at the desk speaks hardly any English and I want them to understand me perfectly, so I’m waiting for the English guy to come in. Although there isn’t much I can really do right now since I can’t actually prove that he took it. I will let them know though because he could be trouble. My old key shouldn’t work anymore so at least he can’t get into the room, though I still took everything of importance from my room, just in case; so my laptop, jewellery, birthday book, Andy’s birthday present, perfume and all my notes, and made sure everything else was locked in my case…the room appears untouched, so either he hasn’t attempted to get in or the key no longer works. Preferably both.
Anyways, then went on a huge trek about Lyon with the Danish guy which was a lot of fun. Wanted to go and see Toy Story Three but no such luck unfortunately. And I should be seeing a TLMD film, but again it’s in a place called “Place Raspail” which doesn’t seem to be on the map and there’s a storm coming and I don’t really want to be caught in an unknown part of Lyon with a storm going.
So tonight I am going to begin writing my project, well, the theatre side, and I really do feel like a proper sleep. Every day I miss Glasgow and I am counting down the days to Friday and Saturday when I can finally see everyone again…I read the messages in my birthday book again yesterday and nearly cried…I really, really love you guys. (: <3
EDIT: Just found out from reception last night that Nepalian guy has left for good. Excellent!
Another day, another creep…this time from Nepal. But I’ll talk about him later.
Ok, well on Saturday night I got no sleep. As in literally no sleep. No idea why. So last night I was in no condition to go and see a movie at ten o’clock…so that was another day wasted. I thought I was gonna go mad with boredom. On the plus side yesterday I got to know some really cool people in the Hostel, none of whom I am able to remember their names…so they shall henceforth be referred to as “Nice German Girl Who Speaks Loads of English” “Nice German Girl Who Speaks Little English But Loads of French” “Guy That Looks Like Someone Though I’d Rather Not Say Who He Looks Like” “Danish Guy Who Loves Films” “And Creepy Nepalian Guy”…hm, maybe this isn’t the best plan but oh well.
Ok, well it started well with us all chatting and eating chocolate brownies (As in, oh my god the NICEST things ever cooked…well done to Ambroise, the French guy who cooked them and whose name I only remember because it reminded me of Ambrosia). I also got a lovely roommate from New Zealand who was absolutely lovely and travelling with her husband, who she has known since high school…..I love couples like that.
Anyway I’m getting side tracked. Napalian guy made an egg curry which I have never tried before and am not sure I ever will again. He keeps touching me…it started out as just high fives, now he keeps trying to take my hand…well then I attempted to go to the film I was meant to see, but to be honest this Tout Le Monde Dehors festival seems to be a load of bollocks; none of the things being shown seem to be set in places which are on the map, i.e. they are all situated in the outskirts, and no one I have actually asked in Lyon seems to know anything about it. And anyway, they were setting this thing at 10 PM on World Cup night…yeah, that’ll go down well when I’m an hour’s walk away from the hostel, its midnight and the Spanish are going crazy. Why did I leave Paris??? Still, today I saw a movie at the Cinema National Populaire called Film Socialisme. I decided to see it because it is apparently avant guardist and not because it had the word “socialisme” in the title….whether or not it was actually about socialism is anyone’s guess, because it’s possibly one of the most boring movies I have ever sat through…like 11 and 12 if you stuck an extra half hour on the end >.<
But hey, I’m getting ahead of myself again! Stayed at the hostel with the final playing in the background, discussing French movies with the cool (and possibly gay) Danish guy and talking about the beauty of Brad Pitt’s face.
“I think that Brad Pitt is possibly the most beautiful man in the world”
“He certainly does have a wonderfully chiselled face”
“He has a great nose. I would love to have that nose. I like noses. And ears. And toes. All the things that poke out”
(Short pause)
XD
Meanwhile Creepy Napal Guy keeps attempting to play footsie with me. It’s really bizarre; he’s got his arm around the lovely German girl who speaks loads of English and at the same time he keeps stretching across to rub my foot with his…so then I budge away in an obvious gesture of non-interest…then when I need to sit closer again to hear the Danish guy properly…there we go, back with the footsie…for chrissakes, words cannot express the severity of my lack of interest in this guy and I have made this very clear. And yet still the wee trooper keeps on…trooping. I could almost be impressed with his dedication if it wasn’t for the fact that he has not a hope in hell and should stick with the lovely pretty German girl who seems not to be creeped out by his creepiness.
Anyways, after the match I announced that I was going to go to bed and attempt to capture that ever evasive sleep…at which point Creepy asked me 4 times to stay, each time with me telling him, very firmly, that I was tired and going to bed…he also keeps touching my waist when he walks past me, and doesn’t seem to get the blatant hint when I push him off and give him my worst look. But the creepiness does not end there, oohhhh no…
This morning I get up and sit down for breakfast with lovely NZ roommate and her husband who left this morning. Having a lovely chat, Nepal guy sits at the next table completely alone. I ignore him and carry on my conversation. I then take my breakfast stuff inside to get them washed…and he follows me. He asks me if I’m pissed off with him and I say no, cause…well I’m not pissed off with him I just think he’s a creepy fuck who should piss off.
Anyways, I’ve got too much stuff in my hands so I put my key down on the table. I turn away, turn back and the key is gone. Of course my initial thought is that he has taken it, but obviously I can’t prove anything so I just say “Where’s my key” to which he replies “It’ll be around somewhere. Why don’t you stay for a drink with me?” I mean, honestly, who has a drink at 7 o’clock in the morning? Ok, don’t answer that. So I tell him quite firmly “No, I’m going to find my key” and go back outside to ask my roommate if I left it on the table (even though I was sure I hadn’t and I was right)
So I went out and replayed then entire story for both the roommate and her husband, and they tell me that apparently during our whole conversation Creepy Nepal Guy did not stop staring at me once…so roommate lets me use her key to get ready and stuff and then I go and get mine changed. I didn’t tell reception my suspicions yet because the woman at the desk speaks hardly any English and I want them to understand me perfectly, so I’m waiting for the English guy to come in. Although there isn’t much I can really do right now since I can’t actually prove that he took it. I will let them know though because he could be trouble. My old key shouldn’t work anymore so at least he can’t get into the room, though I still took everything of importance from my room, just in case; so my laptop, jewellery, birthday book, Andy’s birthday present, perfume and all my notes, and made sure everything else was locked in my case…the room appears untouched, so either he hasn’t attempted to get in or the key no longer works. Preferably both.
Anyways, then went on a huge trek about Lyon with the Danish guy which was a lot of fun. Wanted to go and see Toy Story Three but no such luck unfortunately. And I should be seeing a TLMD film, but again it’s in a place called “Place Raspail” which doesn’t seem to be on the map and there’s a storm coming and I don’t really want to be caught in an unknown part of Lyon with a storm going.
So tonight I am going to begin writing my project, well, the theatre side, and I really do feel like a proper sleep. Every day I miss Glasgow and I am counting down the days to Friday and Saturday when I can finally see everyone again…I read the messages in my birthday book again yesterday and nearly cried…I really, really love you guys. (: <3
EDIT: Just found out from reception last night that Nepalian guy has left for good. Excellent!
Saturday 10 July 2010
"you might fall madly in love with him and his paternal instinct."
Ok, people in Glasgow will be sick of me complaining but I have to mention this…the fucking sink in my room. Actually. Every time someone uses the sink in the bathroom next door to wash their hands it starts rattling uncontrollably. I don’t just mean a slight distracting rumbling noise that might bother you when you wake up in the middle of the night, oh no. I mean a proper full scale banging clunking that wakes up everyone in the entire room. Why? Surely this is fixable!
Anyway, yesterday was a day of research; today I am visiting the Lumiere museum. That’s right kiddies, the holiday involves a museum. Actually it’s a film museum which slightly increases its rating on the cool scale, but still.
The guys here are a lot less up front than in Paris, which is nice. Had a bit of an encounter last night though; a 50 year old Italian man stopped me on the bridge:
“You look very nice in blue”
“Thank you”
“I saw you earlier today and I took a picture of you”
“…right”
“Do you salsa?”
“Um, sort of”
“There’s a salsa bar just over there, I was wondering if you were going”
“No I’m just going to meet my, friend” (I’m getting too good at lying)
*laughs* “It wasn’t an invitation. I just wondered if you were going” *Lights cigarette* “This is just tobacco by the way, not weed. Do you smoke weed?”
“Er…”
“Because if you want later you can come and smoke weed with me”
“Naw, you’re alright”
“Eyyyy, what, you scared of me?”
“No”
*Laughs and gives me a high five* “I’ll see you later”
And then he cycled away on his wee bike.
I immediately texted about 5 people with “A 50 year old Italian man just invited me to go and smoke weed with him!”
My replies:
Viki: Hahahaha, omg that’s hilarious!
Jenny: Awwww don’t you just love the Italians? (She makes a good point. What is it with me and weird Italian men? I’m almost certain the metro stalker was one as well)
Phil: Sounds like a hot date. Go fer it! Who knows, you might fall madly in love with him and his paternal instinct. (Thanks Phil, but I guess we’ll never find out…)
Ok, turned out that the lumiere museum was a bit of a waste of time. Mostly just told me about the invention of the camera….right.
Had first proper scary time in Lyon when this guy with a lip piercing came up to me. I had earphones in and just said that I couldn’t speak French. I took the earphones out and he was saying “Fuck off…just fuck off…” which kinda gave me the impression that I was about to get stabbed and mugged since he was a pretty big guy. I didn’t ask what I’d done…
Anyways, back in the hostel. I keep getting the feeling that I’ve wasted 3 days :/ but planning to see loads and loads of movies over the next few days, so here’s hoping
Anyway, yesterday was a day of research; today I am visiting the Lumiere museum. That’s right kiddies, the holiday involves a museum. Actually it’s a film museum which slightly increases its rating on the cool scale, but still.
The guys here are a lot less up front than in Paris, which is nice. Had a bit of an encounter last night though; a 50 year old Italian man stopped me on the bridge:
“You look very nice in blue”
“Thank you”
“I saw you earlier today and I took a picture of you”
“…right”
“Do you salsa?”
“Um, sort of”
“There’s a salsa bar just over there, I was wondering if you were going”
“No I’m just going to meet my, friend” (I’m getting too good at lying)
*laughs* “It wasn’t an invitation. I just wondered if you were going” *Lights cigarette* “This is just tobacco by the way, not weed. Do you smoke weed?”
“Er…”
“Because if you want later you can come and smoke weed with me”
“Naw, you’re alright”
“Eyyyy, what, you scared of me?”
“No”
*Laughs and gives me a high five* “I’ll see you later”
And then he cycled away on his wee bike.
I immediately texted about 5 people with “A 50 year old Italian man just invited me to go and smoke weed with him!”
My replies:
Viki: Hahahaha, omg that’s hilarious!
Jenny: Awwww don’t you just love the Italians? (She makes a good point. What is it with me and weird Italian men? I’m almost certain the metro stalker was one as well)
Phil: Sounds like a hot date. Go fer it! Who knows, you might fall madly in love with him and his paternal instinct. (Thanks Phil, but I guess we’ll never find out…)
Ok, turned out that the lumiere museum was a bit of a waste of time. Mostly just told me about the invention of the camera….right.
Had first proper scary time in Lyon when this guy with a lip piercing came up to me. I had earphones in and just said that I couldn’t speak French. I took the earphones out and he was saying “Fuck off…just fuck off…” which kinda gave me the impression that I was about to get stabbed and mugged since he was a pretty big guy. I didn’t ask what I’d done…
Anyways, back in the hostel. I keep getting the feeling that I’ve wasted 3 days :/ but planning to see loads and loads of movies over the next few days, so here’s hoping
Friday 9 July 2010
"“It’s not that you’re not good, it’s just I’m really tired!”” "So was I!"
“So how was your play?”
“Oh God. I was so knackered from the night before I fell asleep! It wouldn’t have been so bad except that it was one of those in the round things and I was in the front row, so they could see me. I felt so bad. I was like “It’s not that you’re not good, it’s just I’m really tired!””
Gay guy from three tables away : “So was I!”
(I especially liked this because it's one of those things that took about 10 seconds for me to get it, and when I finally did I was like ".....lol" XD)
Anyway, Lyon is even warmed than Paris and within 5 minutes I hated it, having already had 8 Euros chugged out of me by a kid at the train station…it’s so difficult to argue in a foreign language. So now I just speak at them in English. It’s great.
Also discovered that the Carnet I have left over from Paris don’t work in Lyon…god that’s annoying. Also the hostel is on the top of a huge hill. Perfect. On the flip side, the breakfast is great and the view is amazing…actually the whole place is pretty beautiful…I’m going to take a wander about up the hill soon and then go to the film museum.
Oh yeah, decided to put film back in my report, on accountof the face that there is NOTHING theatrical going on in Lyon…it’s sort of a long story involving me trekking about an hour and a half only to le Place Marche a Vaise only to discover that whtever the fuck it was I was trying to see was not there. Very, very frustrating given that the website is so unhelpful, and I was seriously considering going back to Paris, although that’d be atotal waste of like 100 Euros. So thinking about it it’s probably best just to make the project on Parisian theatre and French film, cause I can Youtube a lot of it anyway…
On the plus side I met this really lovely Swiss girl named Tamara who first phone like 3 different tourist offices, then offered me a beer with her friends. I ended up going back to her and eating cheesy pasta with her and her friend Kevin…funny house life turns out. She even offered me a shower! Which I didn’t take, but still. I showed them some of out British culture with Pendulum and Jedward, and they showed me this guy who sings about setting your soul on fire by getting stoned…then we had chocolate and cookies and they drove me home, where I got the best sleep I’ve had in ages despite being woken up at 7 by the pipes which make as in the loudest racket.
Anyways, hum ho I’m off to explore the area now that my MP4 has been charged. I also need to buy some shampoo and conditioner because mine seems to have gone missing so I had to borrow some this morning…not fun. Today is to be the hottest day of the year in France…fun…:L
“Oh God. I was so knackered from the night before I fell asleep! It wouldn’t have been so bad except that it was one of those in the round things and I was in the front row, so they could see me. I felt so bad. I was like “It’s not that you’re not good, it’s just I’m really tired!””
Gay guy from three tables away : “So was I!”
(I especially liked this because it's one of those things that took about 10 seconds for me to get it, and when I finally did I was like ".....lol" XD)
Anyway, Lyon is even warmed than Paris and within 5 minutes I hated it, having already had 8 Euros chugged out of me by a kid at the train station…it’s so difficult to argue in a foreign language. So now I just speak at them in English. It’s great.
Also discovered that the Carnet I have left over from Paris don’t work in Lyon…god that’s annoying. Also the hostel is on the top of a huge hill. Perfect. On the flip side, the breakfast is great and the view is amazing…actually the whole place is pretty beautiful…I’m going to take a wander about up the hill soon and then go to the film museum.
Oh yeah, decided to put film back in my report, on accountof the face that there is NOTHING theatrical going on in Lyon…it’s sort of a long story involving me trekking about an hour and a half only to le Place Marche a Vaise only to discover that whtever the fuck it was I was trying to see was not there. Very, very frustrating given that the website is so unhelpful, and I was seriously considering going back to Paris, although that’d be atotal waste of like 100 Euros. So thinking about it it’s probably best just to make the project on Parisian theatre and French film, cause I can Youtube a lot of it anyway…
On the plus side I met this really lovely Swiss girl named Tamara who first phone like 3 different tourist offices, then offered me a beer with her friends. I ended up going back to her and eating cheesy pasta with her and her friend Kevin…funny house life turns out. She even offered me a shower! Which I didn’t take, but still. I showed them some of out British culture with Pendulum and Jedward, and they showed me this guy who sings about setting your soul on fire by getting stoned…then we had chocolate and cookies and they drove me home, where I got the best sleep I’ve had in ages despite being woken up at 7 by the pipes which make as in the loudest racket.
Anyways, hum ho I’m off to explore the area now that my MP4 has been charged. I also need to buy some shampoo and conditioner because mine seems to have gone missing so I had to borrow some this morning…not fun. Today is to be the hottest day of the year in France…fun…:L
Wednesday 7 July 2010
Wine and Jagerbombs. Life is Good!
I forgot to mention that the Saturday night before moving to the new hostel was spent on the pedestrian bridge over the seine. It’s pretty amazing; basically all the students just come out on to the bridge at about 8 o’clock and start having picnics, drinking and playing guitar. So having found a suitable group who spoke English I spent that night under the light of the Eiffel tower, chatting to Frenchies and being fed wine and Jagerbombs. Life is good!
One really cool thing they do is take a padlock, write the name of the person they love on it and lock it to the bridge. I thought that was pretty cool.
Anyway, most of the rest of the week passed without much drama. Two lovely Danish girls moved into my room in the new Hostel and they were great company, even though we never got a chance to go out on account of one of them having a gammy leg that she burned on a motorbike.
For the most part last week was pretty uneventful. I was dying with the cold which could be down to the fact that I’d been living off bread for two weeks and was probably nutritionally deficient. Papa Sean gave me chickpeas. Yes. Chickpeas. Nice man, that.
Saw a play by Ionesco which was pretty awesome.
Moved back to the D’Artagnan. Been talking to Papa Sean a lot more this time round, he makes it very easy to meet people, including Michael and Jamie, two Canadian guys who were going on an 8 month travel across the world and who introduced me to the awesomeness of crocs. I think I kind of freaked them out when I received a kinda upsetting and unexpected message on Monday and ended up having a small scale breakdown for five minutes…but they were really nice about it and took loads of pictures of me wearing the Canadian flag like a cape. I was very sad to see them leave so early. They are returning to Paris at the end of August and I may actually come back just to see them ;)
It’s weird, thinking about the people you meet here. As Papa Sean said, some people you meet for a few hours and you have an instant connection. Others, you push so hard and you’re just banging your head against the wall. I know what he means….
Went out in the Tuesday night with two lovely American girls and a guy called Rouddy. Ended up in a cool Latino bar. The guys are weird here. It’s like, you’re standing talking to your friends, or clearly busy, and they just grab you and start dancing with you. It’s crazy! The club itself was a lot of fun. I learned to salsa! Been listening to Gogol Bordello all day now and wishing I had someone to salsa to them with. Maybe once me and Stuart take up swing dancing…
Knackered today. Fell asleep at a play, which I feel sorta guilty about. Poor actors! Thgey were good, but I went to sleep at like 4 this morning lol. Now I’m gutted cause Spain won and not Germany. Scheisser!
Off to Lyon tomorrow. Early rise at 6.30 – it’s gonna kill me. I can’t wait to get to Lyon, yet I never want to leave Paris! Yet I hate it, yet still I want more time. Moremoremore… also want to see the rest of the world. I always thought I’d do Europe over the next few years and then branch out into the Americas, China, Russia, maybe even Australia…now I want it all, right NOW.
Iain Cordona gets a special mention for saying my blog was entertaining. Thanksies! :D
Oh, and before it becomes obsolete, I wrote this ages ago:
Rule one: Don’t make eye contact with strangers. That’s one of the main things I hate about Paris. In Glasgow, it’s normal to look at someone on the tube or the metro or the underground or whatever and smile. If a woman sits next to a man in the train station, it doesn’t mean a thing. In Paris, no one smiles on the metro, especially not to each other. And women need to be careful not to give even the slightest hint of invitation. In Paris, you can’t just be friendly for friendliness sake. Everyone’s after something. At least, that’s the belief.
One really cool thing they do is take a padlock, write the name of the person they love on it and lock it to the bridge. I thought that was pretty cool.
Anyway, most of the rest of the week passed without much drama. Two lovely Danish girls moved into my room in the new Hostel and they were great company, even though we never got a chance to go out on account of one of them having a gammy leg that she burned on a motorbike.
For the most part last week was pretty uneventful. I was dying with the cold which could be down to the fact that I’d been living off bread for two weeks and was probably nutritionally deficient. Papa Sean gave me chickpeas. Yes. Chickpeas. Nice man, that.
Saw a play by Ionesco which was pretty awesome.
Moved back to the D’Artagnan. Been talking to Papa Sean a lot more this time round, he makes it very easy to meet people, including Michael and Jamie, two Canadian guys who were going on an 8 month travel across the world and who introduced me to the awesomeness of crocs. I think I kind of freaked them out when I received a kinda upsetting and unexpected message on Monday and ended up having a small scale breakdown for five minutes…but they were really nice about it and took loads of pictures of me wearing the Canadian flag like a cape. I was very sad to see them leave so early. They are returning to Paris at the end of August and I may actually come back just to see them ;)
It’s weird, thinking about the people you meet here. As Papa Sean said, some people you meet for a few hours and you have an instant connection. Others, you push so hard and you’re just banging your head against the wall. I know what he means….
Went out in the Tuesday night with two lovely American girls and a guy called Rouddy. Ended up in a cool Latino bar. The guys are weird here. It’s like, you’re standing talking to your friends, or clearly busy, and they just grab you and start dancing with you. It’s crazy! The club itself was a lot of fun. I learned to salsa! Been listening to Gogol Bordello all day now and wishing I had someone to salsa to them with. Maybe once me and Stuart take up swing dancing…
Knackered today. Fell asleep at a play, which I feel sorta guilty about. Poor actors! Thgey were good, but I went to sleep at like 4 this morning lol. Now I’m gutted cause Spain won and not Germany. Scheisser!
Off to Lyon tomorrow. Early rise at 6.30 – it’s gonna kill me. I can’t wait to get to Lyon, yet I never want to leave Paris! Yet I hate it, yet still I want more time. Moremoremore… also want to see the rest of the world. I always thought I’d do Europe over the next few years and then branch out into the Americas, China, Russia, maybe even Australia…now I want it all, right NOW.
Iain Cordona gets a special mention for saying my blog was entertaining. Thanksies! :D
Oh, and before it becomes obsolete, I wrote this ages ago:
Rule one: Don’t make eye contact with strangers. That’s one of the main things I hate about Paris. In Glasgow, it’s normal to look at someone on the tube or the metro or the underground or whatever and smile. If a woman sits next to a man in the train station, it doesn’t mean a thing. In Paris, no one smiles on the metro, especially not to each other. And women need to be careful not to give even the slightest hint of invitation. In Paris, you can’t just be friendly for friendliness sake. Everyone’s after something. At least, that’s the belief.
Tuesday 6 July 2010
Time is running together...
Sunday
Moved to a new hostel in the Bastille area, which is somewhat more lively and surrounded by far cheaper shops, hence why I was able to buy myself 3 dresses or ten Euros each. Excellent.
On the downside; I miss the d’Artagnan a LOT. The people, the atmosphere, the vending machines selling plasters for my blistered feet. Here I’m pushed to find a socket in my room. But even then my adaptor is still lodged in the wall of my old room. Every day I would give it a massive he-woman like pull, but it continually refused to budge.
Anyway, when I did check into my….
(I took a short break at this point for an afternoon nap followed by a hot chocolate - since Thursday, my sleep cycle and blood sugar are FUCKED)
Anyway, when I checked in this morning (That morning? It was “This” morning when I wrote that entry, but that was more than a week ago...) at 11 AM my room was closed (11AM-4PM) for cleaning. Why is anyone’s guess, since it was empty and had no need for cleaning but oh well. I had to take my luggage down to the luggage room, which was downstairs. In the cellar. A stone cellar. Down a narrow, winding set of stairs. With no lift. Excellent idea Mr. Hostel Designer Man. How do I know he was a man? A woman wouldn’t make such an obvious fallacy.
The room is tiny and offers a choice of 3 beds – the top bunk, which no one ever wants, the bottom bunk which traps the unbearable heat, and the singleton, which is so saggy once having lain down on it you can’t escape again. There is no wi-fi (they call it “Wee-Fee” here, lulz XD ), but I couldn’t use it even if there was cause I’m out of battery, and my adaptor is in the D’Artagnan. Damn. Moving was a baaaad choice.
Oh yeah, on Saturday I went to see my first play at Comedie Francaise – Ubu Roi. Comedie Francaise is pretty, it’s polished and it’s full of marble and ornate décor. But it’s not the Bouffes du Nord. It lacks a lot of the…I don’t know, BDN really has a feeling of timelessness the CF just can’t match.
Anyway the play was alright. It’s just a bit difficult to understand why it’s being performed today. Ubu Roi was written at a time when swearing onstage just didn’t happen, and it was outrageous when first performed 100 years ago. The point was to mock the bourgeoisie audience and shake 19th century theatre out of its stupor. Now the bourgeoisie audience laugh away with everyone else. They play is no longer shocking. It’s officially a “Classic”.
Moved to a new hostel in the Bastille area, which is somewhat more lively and surrounded by far cheaper shops, hence why I was able to buy myself 3 dresses or ten Euros each. Excellent.
On the downside; I miss the d’Artagnan a LOT. The people, the atmosphere, the vending machines selling plasters for my blistered feet. Here I’m pushed to find a socket in my room. But even then my adaptor is still lodged in the wall of my old room. Every day I would give it a massive he-woman like pull, but it continually refused to budge.
Anyway, when I did check into my….
(I took a short break at this point for an afternoon nap followed by a hot chocolate - since Thursday, my sleep cycle and blood sugar are FUCKED)
Anyway, when I checked in this morning (That morning? It was “This” morning when I wrote that entry, but that was more than a week ago...) at 11 AM my room was closed (11AM-4PM) for cleaning. Why is anyone’s guess, since it was empty and had no need for cleaning but oh well. I had to take my luggage down to the luggage room, which was downstairs. In the cellar. A stone cellar. Down a narrow, winding set of stairs. With no lift. Excellent idea Mr. Hostel Designer Man. How do I know he was a man? A woman wouldn’t make such an obvious fallacy.
The room is tiny and offers a choice of 3 beds – the top bunk, which no one ever wants, the bottom bunk which traps the unbearable heat, and the singleton, which is so saggy once having lain down on it you can’t escape again. There is no wi-fi (they call it “Wee-Fee” here, lulz XD ), but I couldn’t use it even if there was cause I’m out of battery, and my adaptor is in the D’Artagnan. Damn. Moving was a baaaad choice.
Oh yeah, on Saturday I went to see my first play at Comedie Francaise – Ubu Roi. Comedie Francaise is pretty, it’s polished and it’s full of marble and ornate décor. But it’s not the Bouffes du Nord. It lacks a lot of the…I don’t know, BDN really has a feeling of timelessness the CF just can’t match.
Anyway the play was alright. It’s just a bit difficult to understand why it’s being performed today. Ubu Roi was written at a time when swearing onstage just didn’t happen, and it was outrageous when first performed 100 years ago. The point was to mock the bourgeoisie audience and shake 19th century theatre out of its stupor. Now the bourgeoisie audience laugh away with everyone else. They play is no longer shocking. It’s officially a “Classic”.
Saturday 3 July 2010
"I died in front of you tonight"
After my late night last Thursday I was not looking forward to going to the Theatre des Bouffes du Nord to see yet another bloody Peter Brook play. After the underwhelming 11 and 12, I didn’t really see how a one woman show exploring questions of theatre was going to be in any way more gripping.
It’s odd how life can surprise you. Warum Warum was quite literally one of the best pieces of theatre I have seen in my entire life.
Ok, I’m just going to lump together every meeting from over the past week with Miriam Goldschmidt into one post. In fact, forget the events themselves; they don’t matter. I’m going to write about this extraordinary woman.
Miriam Goldschmidt was in The Mahabarata and Conference of the Birds and a bunch of other Brook plays. Before meeting Brook she was a highly successful actress in Paris and Berlin, having graduated from the Jaques Lequoc school of Acting. But she was bored. She was very bored with theatre. And then she read the empty space.
She’s the kind of woman who makes you understand everything. When I read Brook and his Holy Theatre of the Invisible Made Visible it could sometimes seem a bit pretentious. Through meeting this woman you realise what he means, and how little you understand about theatre, about acting, about life.
She does not know where she comes from. She was born an orphan. She has no origin so she has invented her own. She looks about 20 years younger than her true age. When she was a little girl she wanted to be a magician. She wanted to heal people with her hands. When she says hello or goodbye to you, she claps your hands as though you can take strength from her, and she from you. She holds and aura of intense power.
She lives completely all the time. She sees the patterns on the buildings and the people on the streets and the universe moving round and round her all the time.
“I am not an actress. I am an inventor of life”
Everything she does is acting and everything she acts is true. She doesn’t act, she plays. She shows. She is. She exists more completely than anyone else and lives more truly and she is dying all the time. In her mind, in her heart the world and all its intensity is killing her.
When she looks at you, you are sure she can see straight into your mind.
She loves so much and has lost so much. She connects to people automatically. She is connected directly to life. People gather around her in fascination. She is a teacher, a demonstrator. A shaman. And everyone who meets her is her pupil. Everyone who meets her leaves with the resolution to be more like her.
She carries so much age and maturity. Yet when she laughs she is like a tiny baby and when she cries it is like a wounded animal.
She bought a white rose from a street vendor and said it was for her daughter. Then she gave it to me. She began to cry. I took her hand and we sat for a long, long time, just her clutching my hand and crying.
Her daughter died 12 years ago.
It’s odd how life can surprise you. Warum Warum was quite literally one of the best pieces of theatre I have seen in my entire life.
Ok, I’m just going to lump together every meeting from over the past week with Miriam Goldschmidt into one post. In fact, forget the events themselves; they don’t matter. I’m going to write about this extraordinary woman.
Miriam Goldschmidt was in The Mahabarata and Conference of the Birds and a bunch of other Brook plays. Before meeting Brook she was a highly successful actress in Paris and Berlin, having graduated from the Jaques Lequoc school of Acting. But she was bored. She was very bored with theatre. And then she read the empty space.
She’s the kind of woman who makes you understand everything. When I read Brook and his Holy Theatre of the Invisible Made Visible it could sometimes seem a bit pretentious. Through meeting this woman you realise what he means, and how little you understand about theatre, about acting, about life.
She does not know where she comes from. She was born an orphan. She has no origin so she has invented her own. She looks about 20 years younger than her true age. When she was a little girl she wanted to be a magician. She wanted to heal people with her hands. When she says hello or goodbye to you, she claps your hands as though you can take strength from her, and she from you. She holds and aura of intense power.
She lives completely all the time. She sees the patterns on the buildings and the people on the streets and the universe moving round and round her all the time.
“I am not an actress. I am an inventor of life”
Everything she does is acting and everything she acts is true. She doesn’t act, she plays. She shows. She is. She exists more completely than anyone else and lives more truly and she is dying all the time. In her mind, in her heart the world and all its intensity is killing her.
When she looks at you, you are sure she can see straight into your mind.
She loves so much and has lost so much. She connects to people automatically. She is connected directly to life. People gather around her in fascination. She is a teacher, a demonstrator. A shaman. And everyone who meets her is her pupil. Everyone who meets her leaves with the resolution to be more like her.
She carries so much age and maturity. Yet when she laughs she is like a tiny baby and when she cries it is like a wounded animal.
She bought a white rose from a street vendor and said it was for her daughter. Then she gave it to me. She began to cry. I took her hand and we sat for a long, long time, just her clutching my hand and crying.
Her daughter died 12 years ago.
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