The other day I did my last “assessment” of the “semester”. It’s hard to say it went well… it happened and that’s the main thing. I feel a bit weird though because I didn’t really have a proper stuvac and the semester kind of, you know, didn’t exist. It’s amazing the amount of work I did in order to (I assume..) pass. Here’s a subject by subject rundown.
Erasmus French for Foreigners: Actually this class wasn’t affected by the strike, so it was on each week. The night before the exam I got my notes together and realised I’d skipped a third of the classes and had no way of getting the notes. 18/20 my friend.
Histoire de la Langue Française: I went to one 1 hour class in January. Sometime in May the teacher gave me a printout of the entire course. I read it and sat an exam one week later.
Pragmatique de l'interaction: I went to one lecture in January, most of which consisted of the professor explaining why they would probably go on strike. I missed the tute. One day in May I wrote an analysis (no word limit) of any conversation (an msn chat). I did no research, but took quotes and references from an essay I wrote for a subject last year.
Diachronie: I went to one lecture and one tute in January, but left the tute early. I then paid ridiculous amounts for a textbook and took an open book exam, unsupervised and with no time limit. Some of the questions were the same as exersises in the textbook. There were answers in the back.
Phonologie: Actually went to two whole lectures and two tutes. For the assessment I had to read a book then do a presentation on the differences between English and French phonotactics. The book was too hard so I didn’t read it and I talked for about 20 minutes about things I made up and stuff I read on Wikipedia. Then the teacher explained all the things that were incorrect about what I had said.
Morphologie: I went to two lectures and two tutes for this as well, but was (both times I think) still drunk from the night before. My assessment involved reading 5 documents and then doing an oral. The oral was actually just the professor asking me questions and then answering them himself when he saw I couldn’t.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Everything Tastes Better In France
You know those people who come back from living in France and complain about how bad Australian bread is? I always hated them I really did. It’s bread. Bread. You can’t exactly get it wrong.
Sadly though, after 5 months here, I’ve realised you can. The bread here is amazing. I think the baguettes are actually made out of heaven. They’re so serious about their bread here that when you go into a bakery they ask you how well done you want it. The other day the baker held up a baguette and said to me “is this one okay?” I got the feeling he would’ve let me taste it like one does with wine if I’d wanted to.
Anyway, bread isn’t the most important subject of this story. The point I’m trying to make here is that French food tastes delicious. Almost always. In every possible way.
So anyway, the other day I had to buy some cough medicine. It’s just your regular over the counter syrup (with no flavour specified) from a random pharmacy. So I took the first dose expecting some horrendous fake cherry attempt to cover up the blatant medicine flavour, when to my surprise it tasted kind of nice. And I thought about it for a while and realised it tasted like something. Something I ate quite often. Something delicious. And then it struck me: crème brûlée. My cough medicine tastes like crème brûlée. France is now officially better at cuisine than any other country I know.
P.S. I was about to publish this post when I paused to get a piece of gum. I’ve never had this gum before, but I bought it because the flavour is called “chlorophylle” and I wondered how on earth that was possible. Anyway, it actually tastes like the dye in plants in the most delicious way imaginable. That is all.
Sadly though, after 5 months here, I’ve realised you can. The bread here is amazing. I think the baguettes are actually made out of heaven. They’re so serious about their bread here that when you go into a bakery they ask you how well done you want it. The other day the baker held up a baguette and said to me “is this one okay?” I got the feeling he would’ve let me taste it like one does with wine if I’d wanted to.
Anyway, bread isn’t the most important subject of this story. The point I’m trying to make here is that French food tastes delicious. Almost always. In every possible way.
So anyway, the other day I had to buy some cough medicine. It’s just your regular over the counter syrup (with no flavour specified) from a random pharmacy. So I took the first dose expecting some horrendous fake cherry attempt to cover up the blatant medicine flavour, when to my surprise it tasted kind of nice. And I thought about it for a while and realised it tasted like something. Something I ate quite often. Something delicious. And then it struck me: crème brûlée. My cough medicine tastes like crème brûlée. France is now officially better at cuisine than any other country I know.
P.S. I was about to publish this post when I paused to get a piece of gum. I’ve never had this gum before, but I bought it because the flavour is called “chlorophylle” and I wondered how on earth that was possible. Anyway, it actually tastes like the dye in plants in the most delicious way imaginable. That is all.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
I bought a piano phone
On the weekend I went down to Lyon for their annual Vintage Market. The market was pretty rad. But what really upset me was the city in general. Lyon was my 3rd or maybe 4th preference for exchange. I knew nothing about French cities so I just assumed everywhere in France would be roughly the same apart from Paris which would be big and scary. But Lyon is amazing. Everything about it is cooler than Orléans. It’s pretty, it’s easy to get around, they have gallo-roman ruins for goodness sake. And a free zoo in the middle of a park, and a funicular, and a miniature museum, and probably 800 more shops than Orléans. Plus their river is a greenish blue colour instead of a greenish brown like ours. People in Lyon are actually interesting. I saw proper hippies there and a goth. And brass bands (plural) performing randomly in the street. In Orléans I’ve seen maybe two people in baggy pants and one kid carrying a French horn in a case. It’s as if people sat in their home towns and said to themselves “You know, I’m pretty boring, I think I’ll move to Orléans, I hear our kind are congregating there and planning something mild”. Meanwhile, other people all over France were saying “Wow, I am young and unfathomably attractive, why don’t I move to Lyon?” And another thing, in Lyon I did not once fear for my life. Here I can’t walk across the university campus without having rocks thrown at me by teens, can’t get to a friend’s place without guys on scooters trying to run me over and shouting things, can’t go to the supermarket without having obscenities yelled at me by men of all ages or being followed by a creepy boy who works in McDonalds. In Lyon I could wear a short skirt with no tights without fearing rape. When people on public transport spoke to me it was to ask where the bus went, not to ask if we could do a “cultural exchange” over drinks because they couldn’t help overhearing I spoke English.
Anyway that was fun. Now I’m back in Orléans surrounded by accommodation bills and uni work. W00t.
Anyway that was fun. Now I’m back in Orléans surrounded by accommodation bills and uni work. W00t.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Other things
Complaining aside, I’ve done a bunch of stuff since my last post. The last one before the last one, since I decided to separate this one into two. I went to Disneyland, went to Versailles, went kayaking at the fake beach, went to a few Polytech parties, went shopping unnecessarily (you know when you get home and wonder whether your new tutu and cowboy boots will go with your purple suspenders, then you take a step back and disown yourself?). Also, May marked the annual Joan of Arc festival in Orléans. Joan of Arc is pretty much the hero of everyone in France since she drove away the pommy bastards who were trying to invade back in medieval times. After she saved them, the French turned her over to the English, who burned her because she saw dead people who told her to do things. Essentially. So anyway, the festival was pretty good.. personally I was surpised at the number of nerds in Orléans who owned their own medieval costume and/or lute and/or vulture. When we went to see a light show on the Cathedral we were also surprised at the number of people who live here at all; apparently this is the only night they leave their homes all year.
Anyway I was going to write more stuff but I just realised I have not studied yet today, despite having two extremely difficult courses to teach myself within the next 3 days. Bye.
Anyway I was going to write more stuff but I just realised I have not studied yet today, despite having two extremely difficult courses to teach myself within the next 3 days. Bye.
Fac Off
On the first of May I received the following email in my Sydney Uni mailbox:
“Please note that as the Union and the University has reached an agreement the strike scheduled for next Tuesday 5 May 2009 has been called off, so all classes will be held as usual.”
I actually burst out laughing and could not stop. When I read it the university here had already been on strike for 3 months and the semester was technically over. Now most teachers have started trying to summarise their courses in weekly meetings so that everyone can sit their exams in June during what would normally be their summer holidays.
As a foreigner though, I am required to organise my own assessments with individual teachers so that I can get them done before I go home. In some cases this means obtaining the lecture notes for a subject, studying them for under a week, then sitting an exam.
Sure, this is the most study I would ever do under normal circumstances anyway, but usually there’s the bonus* of actually being taught things in class. As I said to someone recently, “what are they assessing me on? my ability to teach myself? if i can teach myself then maybe they shouldnt have their jobs”. Last week I was interviewed for the tv about how the strikes were affecting me and I was asked something about money. Obviously I’ve spent a hell of a lot of money coming to france and paying rent but I was never annoyed about it because I still got to live in Europe for several months. But suddenly I realised that I’ve spent $2500 in university fees this semester, to pay for my actual courses. I just payed $2500 for less than two weeks of class. That’s like $125 an hour, if you include the classes where the professors just explained their reasons for the upcoming strikes. I could’ve spent that on 200 movies and learned almost as much.
*Is it weird that when i wrote the word bonus my brain was like "Ah Latin, you're a fusional language. This is why I will never learn you. One morpheme for masculine, singular AND nominative? That's too much for me to handle."
“Please note that as the Union and the University has reached an agreement the strike scheduled for next Tuesday 5 May 2009 has been called off, so all classes will be held as usual.”
I actually burst out laughing and could not stop. When I read it the university here had already been on strike for 3 months and the semester was technically over. Now most teachers have started trying to summarise their courses in weekly meetings so that everyone can sit their exams in June during what would normally be their summer holidays.
As a foreigner though, I am required to organise my own assessments with individual teachers so that I can get them done before I go home. In some cases this means obtaining the lecture notes for a subject, studying them for under a week, then sitting an exam.
Sure, this is the most study I would ever do under normal circumstances anyway, but usually there’s the bonus* of actually being taught things in class. As I said to someone recently, “what are they assessing me on? my ability to teach myself? if i can teach myself then maybe they shouldnt have their jobs”. Last week I was interviewed for the tv about how the strikes were affecting me and I was asked something about money. Obviously I’ve spent a hell of a lot of money coming to france and paying rent but I was never annoyed about it because I still got to live in Europe for several months. But suddenly I realised that I’ve spent $2500 in university fees this semester, to pay for my actual courses. I just payed $2500 for less than two weeks of class. That’s like $125 an hour, if you include the classes where the professors just explained their reasons for the upcoming strikes. I could’ve spent that on 200 movies and learned almost as much.
*Is it weird that when i wrote the word bonus my brain was like "Ah Latin, you're a fusional language. This is why I will never learn you. One morpheme for masculine, singular AND nominative? That's too much for me to handle."
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
I apologise
When you’re a poor foreign student it’s great to get free stuff. One of the differences I’ve found between French university life and Australian university life is that here you actually have to buy clothes. In Sydney you can live off free T-shirts for at least 2 weeks without washing any. However here there are still ways to obtain stuff for free. For example forgetting to tell friends that they left food at your place. It’s also good when 3 of your friends go away for the weekend leaving you behind with all the food they think may go off before they get back. Another hot tip: make friends with people who brought so many pairs of shoes that when one is slightly too big they can afford to give it away and people who buy 4 euro dresses without trying them on. In the past week or so I’ve managed to collect the following items: a tin of lentils, half a bag of curry powder, half a box of brownie, half a loaf of brioche, a capsicum, a tub of crème fraîche, a pair of shoes, a yoghurt, almost a whole garlic, almost a whole box of hot chocolate, a purple dress. Sure I may only be one step away from dumpster diving, but I promise I will never cross that line.
Moving on, this weekend was Easter. Back home when I pictured Easter in France I imagined hanging out with a whole lot of French people, maybe having some kind of civilised meal, possibly going to a French Church, eating chocolate eggs, maybe even painting some real eggs, etc etc. Instead I spent my weekend with Americans, didn’t eat or see one piece of chocolate, did walk past a church at one point but never went in, and ate nothing but pizza. I also realised today that I may have committed each one of the seven deadly sins over this weekend alone. I feel bad that this happened over Easter, but at least I’m being honest. So here are my confessions..
Lust: On Saturday we went to a waterpolo game. I’ve never seen so many almost naked French men. And I know I wasn’t the only one having bad thoughts.
Gluttony: Alcohol. Sigh. Both Thursday and Saturday nights. Lots. (According to the photos anyway… I have no memory to back that up)
Greed: I don’t think I’ve ever eaten as much pizza as I did tonight. That was ridic. Probably wouldn’t be so bad if we hadn’t eaten all that pizza on Friday as well. And fries. I’m never eating again.
Sloth: After going to bed at 6am on Sunday morning and getting up who knows when, I think I spent all of Easter Sunday watching DVDs and lying on beds. I didn’t leave the second floor of my building.
Wrath: I think I got pretty angry on Saturday night and started yelling at people because I was bored. Why am I such a horrible person?
Envy: I am so jealous of all the trips people have been planning. I NEED TO GO SOMEWHERE. I’m also jealous of people who have cars here, and people who are best friends with people who have cars here.
Pride: I don’t really understand this sin. Is it to do with vanity or self-esteem or what? I wasted a lot of money on makeup on Friday. Also I was pretty proud of the daisy chain I made today in that field of flowers where a donkey was pulling along a cart of children, followed by a lamb just wandering behind. Wow that really was Easter.
The good news is, I don’t think I sinned at the art gallery. (I can just hear Christian [linguist]s saying, “actually the good news [which is the meaning of the word ‘gospel’, from the Old English ‘god-spell’, a calque of the Greek word ‘euangelion’] is Jesus Christ and his resurrection”. Fair point, but did you really need that many brackets and quotation marks? P.S. If I read one more book or hear one more talk in which the meaning of the word ‘gospel’ is explained I may actually cry. Please just assume we already know. Please?)
Moving on, this weekend was Easter. Back home when I pictured Easter in France I imagined hanging out with a whole lot of French people, maybe having some kind of civilised meal, possibly going to a French Church, eating chocolate eggs, maybe even painting some real eggs, etc etc. Instead I spent my weekend with Americans, didn’t eat or see one piece of chocolate, did walk past a church at one point but never went in, and ate nothing but pizza. I also realised today that I may have committed each one of the seven deadly sins over this weekend alone. I feel bad that this happened over Easter, but at least I’m being honest. So here are my confessions..
Lust: On Saturday we went to a waterpolo game. I’ve never seen so many almost naked French men. And I know I wasn’t the only one having bad thoughts.
Gluttony: Alcohol. Sigh. Both Thursday and Saturday nights. Lots. (According to the photos anyway… I have no memory to back that up)
Greed: I don’t think I’ve ever eaten as much pizza as I did tonight. That was ridic. Probably wouldn’t be so bad if we hadn’t eaten all that pizza on Friday as well. And fries. I’m never eating again.
Sloth: After going to bed at 6am on Sunday morning and getting up who knows when, I think I spent all of Easter Sunday watching DVDs and lying on beds. I didn’t leave the second floor of my building.
Wrath: I think I got pretty angry on Saturday night and started yelling at people because I was bored. Why am I such a horrible person?
Envy: I am so jealous of all the trips people have been planning. I NEED TO GO SOMEWHERE. I’m also jealous of people who have cars here, and people who are best friends with people who have cars here.
Pride: I don’t really understand this sin. Is it to do with vanity or self-esteem or what? I wasted a lot of money on makeup on Friday. Also I was pretty proud of the daisy chain I made today in that field of flowers where a donkey was pulling along a cart of children, followed by a lamb just wandering behind. Wow that really was Easter.
The good news is, I don’t think I sinned at the art gallery. (I can just hear Christian [linguist]s saying, “actually the good news [which is the meaning of the word ‘gospel’, from the Old English ‘god-spell’, a calque of the Greek word ‘euangelion’] is Jesus Christ and his resurrection”. Fair point, but did you really need that many brackets and quotation marks? P.S. If I read one more book or hear one more talk in which the meaning of the word ‘gospel’ is explained I may actually cry. Please just assume we already know. Please?)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
I can't unitask
This is how I get assignments done...
Tab 1 – Gmail: 14 new messages. I’ve read them already. Reply later.
Tab 2 – Facebook: No new notifications in the past 3 minutes.
Tab 3 – Googlebooks: Language and the Internet by David Crystal. Can’t say it’s one of my favourite books but need to read it for an assignment. He’s talking about netizens (citizens of the Internet). I wonder if netizen has a wikipedia article.
Tab 4 – Wikipedia: netizen. Oh my god it does. Am I a netizen? I suppose I do have 6 email addresses, facebook, msn, a blog. Not sure if I “have a self-imposed responsibility to make certain that [the Internet] is improved in its development while encouraging free speech and open access”. Wow I like the word portmanteau. Why don’t I use it more often? Click. Why is it taking so long?
Tab 1 – No more new messages than before.
Tab 2 – Who’s online? No one worth talking to. 330am in Sydney. Click. Taking too long. I need to use all that spinach before it goes bad. What can I cook?
Tab 5 – Google: Spinach recipes. Click. Calf’s brains with spinach. Really? Surely if I’d wanted to cook that I would’ve typed calf brain recipes. Although I may have a spare calf brain lying around in the fridge. What do I have in the fridge?
Tab 6 – Google: fridge. Hannah. Think about this a second. Close tab.
Tab 5 – Spinach soup? Yeah maybe. Could work. What was I doing before?
Tab 4 – Oh yeah portmanteau.
Tab 1 – No more new messages. I wonder how many times I’ve used the word portmanteau in gchat. Zero. I’m not surprised.
Tab 4 – “The usage of the word "portmanteau" in this sense first appeared in Lewis Carroll's book Through the Looking-Glass (1871), in which Humpty Dumpty explains to Alice the coinage of the unusual words in Jabberwocky”. Oh wow. This is the best day of my life. Oh my god.
Tab 2: New message. CLARE I finally got the Humpty Dumpty thing!! Biggest coincidence ever. So I was reading about portmanteaux in Wikipedia (words that are made of two other words (like netizen) and apparently in Jabberwocky Humpty Dumpty makes some words up like that and then explains to Alice that it’s a portmanteau and shiz! SO apparently Mark Aronoff wasn’t completely off his head!
Tab 4: Porte-manteau means coat-hanger?? I thought coat-hanger in french was some other word. Hm.
Tab 6: Babel Fish: Coathanger, English to French. Manteau-cintre. Yeah cintre. That’s what I though. What was I doing before?
Tab 4: Ha. Bennifer is a portemanteau. I love linguistics. Linguistics! That’s right I was reading a book.
Tab 3 – I swear I know more about the Internet than this guy. He keeps talking about chat groups and virtual worlds. What the hell. What about chat? Just chat. Who uses chat groups? And virtual worlds?? Not since the Habbo Hotel of year 8 my friend.
Tab 1 – Still no one online. Bah. I wonder if the word multitask has an opposite. Do you think at a job interview you could tell them (if they asked what your weaknesses were) that you couldn’t (insert opposite of multitask here)?
Tab 6 – Google: multitask antonym. Urban dictionary? I think not. Let’s try… Wictionary: taking too long to load. I reckon the opposite of multi- is uni- so I’ll start saying unitask and see if it catches on. Yeah.
Tab 2 – Ooh someone has put photos online. These are boring. I wonder if anyone has commented on my blog.
Tab 7 – Nope. Maybe I’ll write a new post.
Tab 1 – Gmail: 14 new messages. I’ve read them already. Reply later.
Tab 2 – Facebook: No new notifications in the past 3 minutes.
Tab 3 – Googlebooks: Language and the Internet by David Crystal. Can’t say it’s one of my favourite books but need to read it for an assignment. He’s talking about netizens (citizens of the Internet). I wonder if netizen has a wikipedia article.
Tab 4 – Wikipedia: netizen. Oh my god it does. Am I a netizen? I suppose I do have 6 email addresses, facebook, msn, a blog. Not sure if I “have a self-imposed responsibility to make certain that [the Internet] is improved in its development while encouraging free speech and open access”. Wow I like the word portmanteau. Why don’t I use it more often? Click. Why is it taking so long?
Tab 1 – No more new messages than before.
Tab 2 – Who’s online? No one worth talking to. 330am in Sydney. Click. Taking too long. I need to use all that spinach before it goes bad. What can I cook?
Tab 5 – Google: Spinach recipes. Click. Calf’s brains with spinach. Really? Surely if I’d wanted to cook that I would’ve typed calf brain recipes. Although I may have a spare calf brain lying around in the fridge. What do I have in the fridge?
Tab 6 – Google: fridge. Hannah. Think about this a second. Close tab.
Tab 5 – Spinach soup? Yeah maybe. Could work. What was I doing before?
Tab 4 – Oh yeah portmanteau.
Tab 1 – No more new messages. I wonder how many times I’ve used the word portmanteau in gchat. Zero. I’m not surprised.
Tab 4 – “The usage of the word "portmanteau" in this sense first appeared in Lewis Carroll's book Through the Looking-Glass (1871), in which Humpty Dumpty explains to Alice the coinage of the unusual words in Jabberwocky”. Oh wow. This is the best day of my life. Oh my god.
Tab 2: New message. CLARE I finally got the Humpty Dumpty thing!! Biggest coincidence ever. So I was reading about portmanteaux in Wikipedia (words that are made of two other words (like netizen) and apparently in Jabberwocky Humpty Dumpty makes some words up like that and then explains to Alice that it’s a portmanteau and shiz! SO apparently Mark Aronoff wasn’t completely off his head!
Tab 4: Porte-manteau means coat-hanger?? I thought coat-hanger in french was some other word. Hm.
Tab 6: Babel Fish: Coathanger, English to French. Manteau-cintre. Yeah cintre. That’s what I though. What was I doing before?
Tab 4: Ha. Bennifer is a portemanteau. I love linguistics. Linguistics! That’s right I was reading a book.
Tab 3 – I swear I know more about the Internet than this guy. He keeps talking about chat groups and virtual worlds. What the hell. What about chat? Just chat. Who uses chat groups? And virtual worlds?? Not since the Habbo Hotel of year 8 my friend.
Tab 1 – Still no one online. Bah. I wonder if the word multitask has an opposite. Do you think at a job interview you could tell them (if they asked what your weaknesses were) that you couldn’t (insert opposite of multitask here)?
Tab 6 – Google: multitask antonym. Urban dictionary? I think not. Let’s try… Wictionary: taking too long to load. I reckon the opposite of multi- is uni- so I’ll start saying unitask and see if it catches on. Yeah.
Tab 2 – Ooh someone has put photos online. These are boring. I wonder if anyone has commented on my blog.
Tab 7 – Nope. Maybe I’ll write a new post.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Letter to a weirdo
To Zack or similar,
Just thought I should let you know that I’m not going to call you. And here’s why:
1. As I understand it, you want to have a drink with a few of us so that you can practise your English. No offence, but I did kind of come to this country to practise my French. And since the snooty French girls in the few classes I had didn’t seem to want to talk to me, I’m not feeling inclined to help your country out (no, it isn’t racist, it’s just angry).
2. It was pretty clear you didn’t understand our non-american accents anyway, which is something I gathered from the fact that you asked us the same questions over and over again after we’d already answered them.
3. (Most importantly), as a La Source inhabitant I associate you with the other local guys. This means I assume you are the kind of person who calls me and my friends “fat potatoes” and yells things like “You speak English? You want to suck my dick?”
4. I know you said you’re not like those other guys, but the fact that you are a stranger who randomly approached us in the supermarket and asked for our numbers doesn’t really help your case.
Not sure if you’re aware, but there’s a language centre in the law building where you can join conversation groups led by an English speaker who has actually volunteered to speak English with you, rather than some random you harassed while they were trying to buy a can of orangina. I suggest you check it out.
Love from Hannah
Just thought I should let you know that I’m not going to call you. And here’s why:
1. As I understand it, you want to have a drink with a few of us so that you can practise your English. No offence, but I did kind of come to this country to practise my French. And since the snooty French girls in the few classes I had didn’t seem to want to talk to me, I’m not feeling inclined to help your country out (no, it isn’t racist, it’s just angry).
2. It was pretty clear you didn’t understand our non-american accents anyway, which is something I gathered from the fact that you asked us the same questions over and over again after we’d already answered them.
3. (Most importantly), as a La Source inhabitant I associate you with the other local guys. This means I assume you are the kind of person who calls me and my friends “fat potatoes” and yells things like “You speak English? You want to suck my dick?”
4. I know you said you’re not like those other guys, but the fact that you are a stranger who randomly approached us in the supermarket and asked for our numbers doesn’t really help your case.
Not sure if you’re aware, but there’s a language centre in the law building where you can join conversation groups led by an English speaker who has actually volunteered to speak English with you, rather than some random you harassed while they were trying to buy a can of orangina. I suggest you check it out.
Love from Hannah
Saturday, April 4, 2009
i think i forgot to go to bed again tonight
Hello
A lot of people ask me “How is Orléans?” and usually I answer by saying that its boring and I do nothing all the time. “But at least you’re becoming awesome at French”. Actually no, I’m not. I’ve had this conversation many times now, and I’m getting bored with it so I’ve decided to elaborate and say that Orléans is not just boring, but also awkward, weird and French. Here are the most awkward, weird and French things that have happened to me lately.
Awkward: You know when you show up to the weekly uni party in the sweaty basement of the Polytech building expecting a lot of dancing and rum but after you pay the entry you discover it’s the end of a sit down dinner with live band? What do you do in this situation? Drink the rest of the punch, then sit there looking like an idiot, only getting up to retrieve your shoe when friend throws it towards another table. Then you steal 3 rocks from the Christmas-related decorative place settings and leave.
Weird: This week the aerobics instructor slash security guard kissed me on the cheek and then slapped me in the face. As a greeting. Yes, cheek kissing is the done thing, but usually I only tend to do it with reasonably close non-Anglophone friends, or at least people who aren’t THE AEROBICS INSTRUCTOR SLASH SECURITY GUARD. What’s more, I tend to reserve face slaps for people who know me really well and can justify doing it.
French: We were in the local bakery. One of my friends was holding a punnet of strawberries she’d just bought. The baker said in French something along the lines of “Oh you brought me strawberries, that’s so nice”, then took them out of her hand. He then went over to his fridge to get a can of whipped cream which he brought back with the strawberries saying (in English this time) “that’s a French touch.” Our other friend later ate the cream.
A lot of people ask me “How is Orléans?” and usually I answer by saying that its boring and I do nothing all the time. “But at least you’re becoming awesome at French”. Actually no, I’m not. I’ve had this conversation many times now, and I’m getting bored with it so I’ve decided to elaborate and say that Orléans is not just boring, but also awkward, weird and French. Here are the most awkward, weird and French things that have happened to me lately.
Awkward: You know when you show up to the weekly uni party in the sweaty basement of the Polytech building expecting a lot of dancing and rum but after you pay the entry you discover it’s the end of a sit down dinner with live band? What do you do in this situation? Drink the rest of the punch, then sit there looking like an idiot, only getting up to retrieve your shoe when friend throws it towards another table. Then you steal 3 rocks from the Christmas-related decorative place settings and leave.
Weird: This week the aerobics instructor slash security guard kissed me on the cheek and then slapped me in the face. As a greeting. Yes, cheek kissing is the done thing, but usually I only tend to do it with reasonably close non-Anglophone friends, or at least people who aren’t THE AEROBICS INSTRUCTOR SLASH SECURITY GUARD. What’s more, I tend to reserve face slaps for people who know me really well and can justify doing it.
French: We were in the local bakery. One of my friends was holding a punnet of strawberries she’d just bought. The baker said in French something along the lines of “Oh you brought me strawberries, that’s so nice”, then took them out of her hand. He then went over to his fridge to get a can of whipped cream which he brought back with the strawberries saying (in English this time) “that’s a French touch.” Our other friend later ate the cream.
Numbers
Time overseas: 4 months
Time in Orléans: 3 months
Classes attended: almost 2 weeks
Weeks of strike: 8 (plus 1 week of midsemester break) and counting
Where we would be in semester if not on strike: week 10
Number of weeks semester will be extended if the strike finishes any time soon: 6
Hours a day spent on facebook: up to 20
Bottles of wine consumed:…
French words learned: quite a lot actually, but most of them are things like “free range eggs” or “leek” or “corkscrew” or “hangover”
French words spoken per day: does “huh?” count as a french word?
Number of times “if I were a boy”, “liberta” and “poker face” play on the radio each hour: at least 3 times each
Clothes bought from H&M: approaching 20 items
Dvds watched: Impossible to count
Estimated money spent on pizza: 200 euros
Estimated number of different food / drink items spilt on my (coverless) quilt: 8
Number of days I’ve been awake before midday: 13 out of 88
Total time spent waiting for water to boil: at least 88 hours
Christina Aguilera “come on over baby” play count: 40
P.S. I just got a letter saying I’ve been upgraded from Sephora’s white Carte de Fidelité to their black one. This means I have spent 150 euros there. I wasn’t so much excited as ashamed.
Time in Orléans: 3 months
Classes attended: almost 2 weeks
Weeks of strike: 8 (plus 1 week of midsemester break) and counting
Where we would be in semester if not on strike: week 10
Number of weeks semester will be extended if the strike finishes any time soon: 6
Hours a day spent on facebook: up to 20
Bottles of wine consumed:…
French words learned: quite a lot actually, but most of them are things like “free range eggs” or “leek” or “corkscrew” or “hangover”
French words spoken per day: does “huh?” count as a french word?
Number of times “if I were a boy”, “liberta” and “poker face” play on the radio each hour: at least 3 times each
Clothes bought from H&M: approaching 20 items
Dvds watched: Impossible to count
Estimated money spent on pizza: 200 euros
Estimated number of different food / drink items spilt on my (coverless) quilt: 8
Number of days I’ve been awake before midday: 13 out of 88
Total time spent waiting for water to boil: at least 88 hours
Christina Aguilera “come on over baby” play count: 40
P.S. I just got a letter saying I’ve been upgraded from Sephora’s white Carte de Fidelité to their black one. This means I have spent 150 euros there. I wasn’t so much excited as ashamed.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Burn Baby Burn
So today I went to Paris for like the 100th time because museums are free on the first Sunday of every month. We did lots of fun stuff there, but that's not what this story is about. This is about the best toilet experience of my life.
We were in a crêperie. It was just your average sort of crêpe joint where you pay the equivalent of $20 and eat a lot of fat and sugar. It did seem slightly hipper than others I've been too, since their logo involved a horse in a dinner suit smoking a cigar. But other than that everything seemed normal. There were normal tables and chairs, boring décor, and mild unnoticeable music.
Until I stepped into the restroom. Suddenly Disco Inferno is blaring at full volume (it wasnt even playing in the normal part of the café). The light has been covered with some sort of disco light machine so I almost had a seizure from the blue, red, green, black, yellow. Through the lights I could just make out some naughty pictures on the wall and then luckily I managed to find the actual toilet, something I had almost forgotten about entirely.
Sadly eventually I had to step back out into the real world and cease my John Trovolta dance moves as I attempted not to fall over from laughter on the way back to the table. Ah disco toilet. Now my life is complete.
We were in a crêperie. It was just your average sort of crêpe joint where you pay the equivalent of $20 and eat a lot of fat and sugar. It did seem slightly hipper than others I've been too, since their logo involved a horse in a dinner suit smoking a cigar. But other than that everything seemed normal. There were normal tables and chairs, boring décor, and mild unnoticeable music.
Until I stepped into the restroom. Suddenly Disco Inferno is blaring at full volume (it wasnt even playing in the normal part of the café). The light has been covered with some sort of disco light machine so I almost had a seizure from the blue, red, green, black, yellow. Through the lights I could just make out some naughty pictures on the wall and then luckily I managed to find the actual toilet, something I had almost forgotten about entirely.
Sadly eventually I had to step back out into the real world and cease my John Trovolta dance moves as I attempted not to fall over from laughter on the way back to the table. Ah disco toilet. Now my life is complete.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
i dont know what the title of this is
Hello,
Yeah so last Monday I decided to go to Berlin and then on Tuesday I did. It was awesome. Really though. It was. If your university ever goes on a really long strike and you have some friends who are in Berlin and you’re not doing anything all week apart from that one class you forgot about I suggest you go. I came back on Sunday and almost died of boredom and no money. The highlight of today was finally finding baked beans in the supermarket and buying every remaining tin. Sigh.
So this is the fourth week of the strike. We had almost two weeks of class before the strike started and next week is mid semester break/ brake (??). Do professors even go on strike in Australia? I don’t remember it ever happening ever. The teachers used to go on strike in primary school for like half a day sometimes. Then they would come back and teach at like 11am the same day. Seems a bit half-hearted comparatively.
In cooking news, I bought some actual ingredients today so that’s going to be weird and boring. Unless I try and cook something really crazy and elaborate that I have barely any of the stuff for. But seriously, things are actually on top of each other in the fridge now. It’s like some kind of normal kitchen.
Yeah so last Monday I decided to go to Berlin and then on Tuesday I did. It was awesome. Really though. It was. If your university ever goes on a really long strike and you have some friends who are in Berlin and you’re not doing anything all week apart from that one class you forgot about I suggest you go. I came back on Sunday and almost died of boredom and no money. The highlight of today was finally finding baked beans in the supermarket and buying every remaining tin. Sigh.
So this is the fourth week of the strike. We had almost two weeks of class before the strike started and next week is mid semester break/ brake (??). Do professors even go on strike in Australia? I don’t remember it ever happening ever. The teachers used to go on strike in primary school for like half a day sometimes. Then they would come back and teach at like 11am the same day. Seems a bit half-hearted comparatively.
In cooking news, I bought some actual ingredients today so that’s going to be weird and boring. Unless I try and cook something really crazy and elaborate that I have barely any of the stuff for. But seriously, things are actually on top of each other in the fridge now. It’s like some kind of normal kitchen.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Apparently it's a cooking blog now
Soupe au Cresson de Fontaine
(which is french for the best effing watercress soup you ever tasted)
1. Find a recipe that you have at least half the ingredients for.
2. Use your maths skillz to calculate the amounts you have to use, lowest common denominator styles, so that you have enough of everything.
3. Estimate 8g of butter and put it in a saucepan until it has melted some.
4. Then put half a small onion (whatever kind you have) in and cook it in there until soft. [By the way you chopped the onion already. When you do this make sure the blood from where you sliced your finger open doesn’t get in the food. Doesn’t matter if the tears from when you rubbed your eyes while touching onion get in.]
5. Eat some peanuts.
6. Peel and dice a potato.
7. Panic slightly when you realise you don’t have any stock of any kind. Decide that stock just tastes like salty water, so estimate 200mL of water and add salt until it almost tastes like chicken stock. Mmmm.
8. When the onion is soft, but not brown unless it is a brown onion, put in the potato and “stock” and cook for a while. (If you’re listening to Triple J Hottest 100 Volume 6 it’s a good idea to put them in at the start of No Surprises by Radiohead for ease of time estimation later).
9. Meanwhile, you need to find about 16mL of cream. It’s up to you to choose between the ingredients on hand, but personally I’d go for semi-skimmed UHT milk, rather than coconut cream or pineapple flavoured yoghurt. All good options though.
10. While waiting you might as well drink some juice, but try and remember to wash the cup you made the stock in before you use it. Right about now, the funk soul brother.
11. At any time feel free to panic and add more water if things are looking scary. But you might have to use your hand if there is now juice in the cup.
12. Like a few minutes before the potato is cooked (or at the end of Drinking in LA for all you who don’t have the ability to time-travel) put the watercress in. Oh shit it’s meant to be chopped. Excuse me one moment.
13. Now, at the end of Cry (about 4 minutes and 8 seconds later, or when the watercress is cooked) I think it is time to use a food processor or some such. If your kitchen is ovenless, microwaveless, toasterless and kettleless I highly doubt you have a food processor. But not to worry, a great substitute is getting all the cutlery you have and just going crazy while making the food processor noise with your mouth. This should take you to the end of the CD.
14. Screw 16mL, just keep adding milk until it starts looking more like soup than mashed potato.
15. Serve immediately. After finishing blog entry.
No offense to anyone who actually bothers to cook things properly, but this was freakin delicious. I’m never eating anything else again.
(which is french for the best effing watercress soup you ever tasted)
1. Find a recipe that you have at least half the ingredients for.
2. Use your maths skillz to calculate the amounts you have to use, lowest common denominator styles, so that you have enough of everything.
3. Estimate 8g of butter and put it in a saucepan until it has melted some.
4. Then put half a small onion (whatever kind you have) in and cook it in there until soft. [By the way you chopped the onion already. When you do this make sure the blood from where you sliced your finger open doesn’t get in the food. Doesn’t matter if the tears from when you rubbed your eyes while touching onion get in.]
5. Eat some peanuts.
6. Peel and dice a potato.
7. Panic slightly when you realise you don’t have any stock of any kind. Decide that stock just tastes like salty water, so estimate 200mL of water and add salt until it almost tastes like chicken stock. Mmmm.
8. When the onion is soft, but not brown unless it is a brown onion, put in the potato and “stock” and cook for a while. (If you’re listening to Triple J Hottest 100 Volume 6 it’s a good idea to put them in at the start of No Surprises by Radiohead for ease of time estimation later).
9. Meanwhile, you need to find about 16mL of cream. It’s up to you to choose between the ingredients on hand, but personally I’d go for semi-skimmed UHT milk, rather than coconut cream or pineapple flavoured yoghurt. All good options though.
10. While waiting you might as well drink some juice, but try and remember to wash the cup you made the stock in before you use it. Right about now, the funk soul brother.
11. At any time feel free to panic and add more water if things are looking scary. But you might have to use your hand if there is now juice in the cup.
12. Like a few minutes before the potato is cooked (or at the end of Drinking in LA for all you who don’t have the ability to time-travel) put the watercress in. Oh shit it’s meant to be chopped. Excuse me one moment.
13. Now, at the end of Cry (about 4 minutes and 8 seconds later, or when the watercress is cooked) I think it is time to use a food processor or some such. If your kitchen is ovenless, microwaveless, toasterless and kettleless I highly doubt you have a food processor. But not to worry, a great substitute is getting all the cutlery you have and just going crazy while making the food processor noise with your mouth. This should take you to the end of the CD.
14. Screw 16mL, just keep adding milk until it starts looking more like soup than mashed potato.
15. Serve immediately. After finishing blog entry.
No offense to anyone who actually bothers to cook things properly, but this was freakin delicious. I’m never eating anything else again.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
How To Make Laksa On A Whim (when you have none of the ingredients, equipment or know-how)
It’s very complicated, so bear/bare with me
1. Find a recipe on the internet. Well done.
2. Boil some water in a saucepan on your horrible electric stove, using your frypan as a lid so that it takes less than half an hour
3. Put some vermicelli noodles in a bowl and tip some of the water on them to soften
4. Peel a potato using that wobbly sharpish knife you have
5. Put the potato in the pot, realise you didn’t boil enough water to cover it, panic, top it up with cold tap water, put the frypan back on top and leave the potato in there hoping it’ll sort itself out
6. When it finally starts boiling again take the frypan off so you can use it in a step that is coming up soon
7. Sadly you don’t have any laksa paste which will definitely be your downfall. Examine the spices on hand, and select the one marked “curry” rather than the one marked “piment fort”. Then decide you will probably use both anyway, since it’s going to be horrible regardless.
8. If the potato doesn’t seem to have done anything yet, turn the Spice Girls up to full volume
9. If the potato is still taking forever, start writing the recipe on your blog, then look for other ingredients you can put in later. It would be good to find some tofu, but sadly all the packets of it were stuck together in the only shop that sells it because they have still failed to clean up the spillage that occurred there or get some new stock. Speaking of which, I think you’re meant to use some kind of stock in this too, but if you don’t have any no matter.
10. Decide the noodles have been soaking for too long but you don’t know what to do about it
11. Get frankly a little bit pissed off at the potato, take it out, cut it in half, put it back in
12. Using the frypan as a wok, put some coconut milk and curry powder (and piment fort?) in
13. Realise this is coconut cream not milk, pretty sure there’s a difference. Add shit loads of both “spices” but it still just tastes like coconut and it is way to thick. Add some water in an attempt to fix this, then bring to the boil
14. Drain the noodles, accidentally tipping about a third of them in the sink
15. Stick your hand in the potato pot to see if it’s ready yet. Yelp in pain.
16. Meanwhile, get those ingredients you found earlier. Cut the snowpeas and cherry tomatoes in half for no apparent reason. Grab a handful of presliced mushrooms just so you have them ready
17. Remove the hair you just found in the wok
18. Use the water you boiled the potatoes in to make a cup of tea, being careful not to tip the actual potatoes into your mug
19. When the stuff in the wok has boiled, turn it down quite a lot and let it simmer until you finish the tea
20. Oh also, fish the potatoes out and cut them into smaller pieces, then shove them and all those other vegetables into the bowl with the noodles
21. Realise the bowl is too small and you don’t have another one. Solve this by eating some of the noodles and potato, and accidentally wiping laksa in your hair
22. When the laksa starts sticking to the sides of the frypan in a frightening manner, it’s probably a good time to tip it in the bowl
23. Voilà! Serve with those useless chopsticks you’ve been waiting for an excuse to use.
Gross Things I Have Eaten #5
Home made Laksa.
1. Find a recipe on the internet. Well done.
2. Boil some water in a saucepan on your horrible electric stove, using your frypan as a lid so that it takes less than half an hour
3. Put some vermicelli noodles in a bowl and tip some of the water on them to soften
4. Peel a potato using that wobbly sharpish knife you have
5. Put the potato in the pot, realise you didn’t boil enough water to cover it, panic, top it up with cold tap water, put the frypan back on top and leave the potato in there hoping it’ll sort itself out
6. When it finally starts boiling again take the frypan off so you can use it in a step that is coming up soon
7. Sadly you don’t have any laksa paste which will definitely be your downfall. Examine the spices on hand, and select the one marked “curry” rather than the one marked “piment fort”. Then decide you will probably use both anyway, since it’s going to be horrible regardless.
8. If the potato doesn’t seem to have done anything yet, turn the Spice Girls up to full volume
9. If the potato is still taking forever, start writing the recipe on your blog, then look for other ingredients you can put in later. It would be good to find some tofu, but sadly all the packets of it were stuck together in the only shop that sells it because they have still failed to clean up the spillage that occurred there or get some new stock. Speaking of which, I think you’re meant to use some kind of stock in this too, but if you don’t have any no matter.
10. Decide the noodles have been soaking for too long but you don’t know what to do about it
11. Get frankly a little bit pissed off at the potato, take it out, cut it in half, put it back in
12. Using the frypan as a wok, put some coconut milk and curry powder (and piment fort?) in
13. Realise this is coconut cream not milk, pretty sure there’s a difference. Add shit loads of both “spices” but it still just tastes like coconut and it is way to thick. Add some water in an attempt to fix this, then bring to the boil
14. Drain the noodles, accidentally tipping about a third of them in the sink
15. Stick your hand in the potato pot to see if it’s ready yet. Yelp in pain.
16. Meanwhile, get those ingredients you found earlier. Cut the snowpeas and cherry tomatoes in half for no apparent reason. Grab a handful of presliced mushrooms just so you have them ready
17. Remove the hair you just found in the wok
18. Use the water you boiled the potatoes in to make a cup of tea, being careful not to tip the actual potatoes into your mug
19. When the stuff in the wok has boiled, turn it down quite a lot and let it simmer until you finish the tea
20. Oh also, fish the potatoes out and cut them into smaller pieces, then shove them and all those other vegetables into the bowl with the noodles
21. Realise the bowl is too small and you don’t have another one. Solve this by eating some of the noodles and potato, and accidentally wiping laksa in your hair
22. When the laksa starts sticking to the sides of the frypan in a frightening manner, it’s probably a good time to tip it in the bowl
23. Voilà! Serve with those useless chopsticks you’ve been waiting for an excuse to use.
Gross Things I Have Eaten #5
Home made Laksa.
Monday, February 9, 2009
STRIKE!
When semester started I thought I should do a post explaining all my subjects and what French Uni is like. Then I decided I should wait until I had finalised which subjects I was doing, since I was turning up to various ones and still making up my mind.
It is now week 4 and I'm still not really sure what subjects I'm doing. Two of the ones that I am definitely doing I have only been to one lecture for. For one subject, I have never had a tute. Reason? I am in France, and therefore my university is on strike. It's an indefinite strike, so no one has any idea how long it will go for. Most teachers are striking, but not quite all of them so sometimes you have to show up to class just in case. But basically, my daily timetable seems to be as follows:
10am - Alarm goes off, press stop instead of snooze.
Early afternoon - Get up, discover I still havent bought any milk, eat some biscuits or yoghurt
Later afternoon - Maybe go into town and watch a movie, maybe go to a friend's place and watch a movie, maybe stay home and go on facebook... probably eat more biscuits or crepes or a gigantic pizza depending on where I am
Evening - Eat some dinner, then go out and drink a lot of cheap french wine
1am - Catch the last tram home, then go on the internet all night
4am - Go to bed
It's pretty difficult lifestyle, I dont know how much longer I can keep it up.
It is now week 4 and I'm still not really sure what subjects I'm doing. Two of the ones that I am definitely doing I have only been to one lecture for. For one subject, I have never had a tute. Reason? I am in France, and therefore my university is on strike. It's an indefinite strike, so no one has any idea how long it will go for. Most teachers are striking, but not quite all of them so sometimes you have to show up to class just in case. But basically, my daily timetable seems to be as follows:
10am - Alarm goes off, press stop instead of snooze.
Early afternoon - Get up, discover I still havent bought any milk, eat some biscuits or yoghurt
Later afternoon - Maybe go into town and watch a movie, maybe go to a friend's place and watch a movie, maybe stay home and go on facebook... probably eat more biscuits or crepes or a gigantic pizza depending on where I am
Evening - Eat some dinner, then go out and drink a lot of cheap french wine
1am - Catch the last tram home, then go on the internet all night
4am - Go to bed
It's pretty difficult lifestyle, I dont know how much longer I can keep it up.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
I can no longer speak English.
Unfortunately this is not because I am so good at French now that it has taken over as my main language. No no. My French is still much worse than my English, and I probably speak in French less than half the time. However, I find myself incapable of structuring English sentences, making spell right (wtf I just reread that) and pronouncing things in an actual way. I put this down to a mixture of the following factors:
a) Pretty much all my friends here speak English, and no two have the same accent so I am forgetting how to use my own accent and say words properly
b) Because most of my friends aren’t French, we speak in a retarded mixture of English and French and whatever other language they happen to speak, so when I try to stick to just English my head collapses
c) I have to use 3 different alphabets. Not only that, but the letters they consist of overlap allowing for much confusion. In class on Monday I had to read out some Greek written in the Greek alphabet. I don’t speak Greek. Then I had to read some French written in the Greek alphabet. In class on Tuesday I had to read some French written in the International Phonetic Alphabet and translate it into the Roman alphabet, before reading some Italian written in IPA and having to guess what language it was. Then I had to read out some English in IPA for a class demo, after listening to our teacher who isn’t from here say it in whatever accent he has. Sure, this doesn’t sound that hard, but when you’ve only had three hours of sleep and you’re trying to remember which one of the three different sounds “z” could have is applicable your brain goes a bit stupid. Z could have is applicable. See what I mean?
d) In case you didn’t know, I do linguistics which means I think about language too much and forget how to use it. Like when you think about the act of walking and it makes you fall over. No?
a) Pretty much all my friends here speak English, and no two have the same accent so I am forgetting how to use my own accent and say words properly
b) Because most of my friends aren’t French, we speak in a retarded mixture of English and French and whatever other language they happen to speak, so when I try to stick to just English my head collapses
c) I have to use 3 different alphabets. Not only that, but the letters they consist of overlap allowing for much confusion. In class on Monday I had to read out some Greek written in the Greek alphabet. I don’t speak Greek. Then I had to read some French written in the Greek alphabet. In class on Tuesday I had to read some French written in the International Phonetic Alphabet and translate it into the Roman alphabet, before reading some Italian written in IPA and having to guess what language it was. Then I had to read out some English in IPA for a class demo, after listening to our teacher who isn’t from here say it in whatever accent he has. Sure, this doesn’t sound that hard, but when you’ve only had three hours of sleep and you’re trying to remember which one of the three different sounds “z” could have is applicable your brain goes a bit stupid. Z could have is applicable. See what I mean?
d) In case you didn’t know, I do linguistics which means I think about language too much and forget how to use it. Like when you think about the act of walking and it makes you fall over. No?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I'm not going to lie to you...
... the thing I just posted was actually written by past me quite a few days ago. I don't even remember what she said. Here's what I actually did today. After several classes (where I set myself up nicely to be that annoying foreign student who thinks they know everything probably because they already took the same class in their home country and answers every question in bad bad french so that they sound like an idiot), I ventured outside of campus into the dodgy end of town. I got in the smallest lift you've ever seen and went into a small room where I sat on a rickety wooden chair that didnt match any of the other chairs in the place and looked at some faded posters as they slowly peeled their way off the wall. Then an old man came and led me into another room that smelled like cloves where he said some incoherent things in a mixture of languages and then stuck his (ungloved) hands in my mouth. Then he poked my teeth with some metal tools and sent me home.
Hot Tip: Go to the dentist BEFORE you leave Australia.
Hot Tip: Go to the dentist BEFORE you leave Australia.
Chez Moi
So, today for the first time I looked around my room and actually felt kind of at home in it. As you read this blog, please feel free to imagine me here. In fact to aid this, and in case you were wondering what conditions a reasonably poor exchange student in france is living under, here’s a quick (read: longwinded) description.
When you walk in the door you’ll see every pair of shoes I have (there are 3). Hanging on hooks there are coats; one is mine, one was leant to me by someone and one was lent to someone else by someone else, but now I have it. To the left is the bathroom. You wont see much if you open the door except a clothesline (= piece of twine strung between the shower rail and the towel rail. That was bracket equals there, not backwards stupid face) with clothes somehow attached without the use of any pegs. Walk a bit further forward and you’ll come across the kitchenette on the left. The shelf is piled quite high with French biscuits and biscottes and every kind of lentil and there are teabags scattered everywhere because I used the box to make a pencil tin. The stove has a pot of water boiling on it so that in an hour’s time I can drink tea. The fridge has cat magnets all over it. They are there to remind me that I have a budget and can’t afford to waste money on stupid crap like cat magnets. Keep going forward.
To the right is my corkboard. I’ve pinned up all my important papers, like enrolment info, emergency phone numbers, map of the campus, a picture coloured in by a 5 year old, photos of my friends dressed as archeologists from 1895 and a James Bond poster from one of the Sean Connery movies.. I don’t think I’ve seen it. Now you’re in the main part of the room.
That big map on the left is the top half of France, in case I forget where I am. Then I have a mirror on the wall, which actually consists of several small mirrors. Sometimes they misalign themselves and it looks like my head is on crooked. Behind the mirror is a built in wardrobe with about 3 things hanging up and 80 shopping bags because I consistently fail to remember to take them with me. My bed has a bright stripey quilt and several old old blankets that I like to pretend aren’t there. Then there’s the heater. When the man showed me the room he gave me instructions and diagrams for the heater, then explained and showed me how to use it just in case. And yet, no matter how many buttons I press it just does its own thing and comes on whenever it feels the need.
Next to the heater is the window with a great view of the piles of uncollected rubbish (I think I mentioned the strike), some kind of mini forest and a uni residence that does have internet in their rooms. Then there’s my “book” shelf, which actually houses tourist pamphlets, gloves, watches, army knife, padlocks, an ashtray full of foreign coins and who know what else I haven’t really looked. That girl sitting at the desk / table next to the bookshelf is me. Didn’t recognize me? That’s because everything I’m wearing I bought here in France. What’s all that crap on the desk? Well there’s a lamp and some cords and booklets and the tea/stationary box and a Christmas card from my parents, but you were probably talking about the infinite sheets of paper I’ve been using to try and create a combination of subjects that don’t clash (we have to make our own timetables). I think I’m going to end up with courses from three different degrees. Not cool. Oops I have to go downstairs and get my other clothes out of the dryer. Until next time - high 5.
Actually, while I’m here,
Gross Things I Have Eaten #4
Vegetables with Thai Curry and Soft Noodles. This was in Glasgow. I really really felt like Newtown Thai so we went into a generic Asian place and I attempted to construct Thai food using the options on offer. Big mistake. Firstly it was ready in about 5 seconds, and batch theory does not apply since no one else was in there. Secondly, the noodles were not the rice noodles I was hoping for and I don’t remember the vegetables but I wasn’t impressed. Thirdly, the Thai curry wasn’t green curry or red curry or yellow curry… it tasted like mucus.
When you walk in the door you’ll see every pair of shoes I have (there are 3). Hanging on hooks there are coats; one is mine, one was leant to me by someone and one was lent to someone else by someone else, but now I have it. To the left is the bathroom. You wont see much if you open the door except a clothesline (= piece of twine strung between the shower rail and the towel rail. That was bracket equals there, not backwards stupid face) with clothes somehow attached without the use of any pegs. Walk a bit further forward and you’ll come across the kitchenette on the left. The shelf is piled quite high with French biscuits and biscottes and every kind of lentil and there are teabags scattered everywhere because I used the box to make a pencil tin. The stove has a pot of water boiling on it so that in an hour’s time I can drink tea. The fridge has cat magnets all over it. They are there to remind me that I have a budget and can’t afford to waste money on stupid crap like cat magnets. Keep going forward.
To the right is my corkboard. I’ve pinned up all my important papers, like enrolment info, emergency phone numbers, map of the campus, a picture coloured in by a 5 year old, photos of my friends dressed as archeologists from 1895 and a James Bond poster from one of the Sean Connery movies.. I don’t think I’ve seen it. Now you’re in the main part of the room.
That big map on the left is the top half of France, in case I forget where I am. Then I have a mirror on the wall, which actually consists of several small mirrors. Sometimes they misalign themselves and it looks like my head is on crooked. Behind the mirror is a built in wardrobe with about 3 things hanging up and 80 shopping bags because I consistently fail to remember to take them with me. My bed has a bright stripey quilt and several old old blankets that I like to pretend aren’t there. Then there’s the heater. When the man showed me the room he gave me instructions and diagrams for the heater, then explained and showed me how to use it just in case. And yet, no matter how many buttons I press it just does its own thing and comes on whenever it feels the need.
Next to the heater is the window with a great view of the piles of uncollected rubbish (I think I mentioned the strike), some kind of mini forest and a uni residence that does have internet in their rooms. Then there’s my “book” shelf, which actually houses tourist pamphlets, gloves, watches, army knife, padlocks, an ashtray full of foreign coins and who know what else I haven’t really looked. That girl sitting at the desk / table next to the bookshelf is me. Didn’t recognize me? That’s because everything I’m wearing I bought here in France. What’s all that crap on the desk? Well there’s a lamp and some cords and booklets and the tea/stationary box and a Christmas card from my parents, but you were probably talking about the infinite sheets of paper I’ve been using to try and create a combination of subjects that don’t clash (we have to make our own timetables). I think I’m going to end up with courses from three different degrees. Not cool. Oops I have to go downstairs and get my other clothes out of the dryer. Until next time - high 5.
Actually, while I’m here,
Gross Things I Have Eaten #4
Vegetables with Thai Curry and Soft Noodles. This was in Glasgow. I really really felt like Newtown Thai so we went into a generic Asian place and I attempted to construct Thai food using the options on offer. Big mistake. Firstly it was ready in about 5 seconds, and batch theory does not apply since no one else was in there. Secondly, the noodles were not the rice noodles I was hoping for and I don’t remember the vegetables but I wasn’t impressed. Thirdly, the Thai curry wasn’t green curry or red curry or yellow curry… it tasted like mucus.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sigh.
To all my loyal readers (slash people with so much time on their hands they actually bothered to come back here even though I haven’t posted in a month), and a special shout out to anyone who was trying to do legitimate research on the internet and keeps getting blogs in their google searches.
How is everyone?
So okay, no I haven’t been blogging even though I claim I am in my email signature. But I have very good reasons and excuses, most of which involve me complaining about not having the internet. I cant be bothered updating you on where else I went. I’ll save that for when I have an assignment due. Instead, here is what I’m doing now, by which I mean last week when I wrote the following somewhere in my computer:
So I am in Orléans (France), which is where I’ll be living and going to uni for the next 6 months. I’m living on campus in a studio, which is pretty neat. Neat in an arranged sense also, because it’s hard for a room to get messy when you only have 55 + 10 litres of belongings.
It is exceptionally cold. Apparently it’s the coldest winter in a long while. This morning it was -10 degrees. Make no mistakes, that’s a minus before the 10 there. (I think that makes a difference of about 45 degrees between here and Sydney?) It snowed on Monday which was my first day on campus. So everything is white. And slippery. But amazing. The campus lake is frozen over and the campus forest is A FOREST ON CAMPUS.
Some other great things about France are: pastries, dubbed old tv shows that played in Australia about 10 years ago, weird keyboards, trams every 8 minutes.
Things I didn’t realize I would miss include: real milk, English breakfast (the meal, not the tea), driving, wearing skirts, coffee (only because there’s no café within 2 metres of here), garbage collectors (they’re on strike).
My place is basically next to the arts building, and just as close on the other side is the tram stop and the local shops. So I basically don’t need to go anywhere ever. I’ve started taking the stairs instead of the elevator so that I don’t get deep vein or something.
The people at Orléans uni are probably the nicest people I’ve ever met. I’d heard horrendous things about French administration and bureaucracy, but apparently they’re doing everything for / with us.. from showing us exactly how to enroll to helping us open a bank account and lending us plates. It’s pretty sweet. I would even say tubular.
So yeah if anyone got somehow directed here because they’re planning on coming to Orléans on exchange, feel free to read on for potential handy tips slash reassurances.
Bai4now
How is everyone?
So okay, no I haven’t been blogging even though I claim I am in my email signature. But I have very good reasons and excuses, most of which involve me complaining about not having the internet. I cant be bothered updating you on where else I went. I’ll save that for when I have an assignment due. Instead, here is what I’m doing now, by which I mean last week when I wrote the following somewhere in my computer:
So I am in Orléans (France), which is where I’ll be living and going to uni for the next 6 months. I’m living on campus in a studio, which is pretty neat. Neat in an arranged sense also, because it’s hard for a room to get messy when you only have 55 + 10 litres of belongings.
It is exceptionally cold. Apparently it’s the coldest winter in a long while. This morning it was -10 degrees. Make no mistakes, that’s a minus before the 10 there. (I think that makes a difference of about 45 degrees between here and Sydney?) It snowed on Monday which was my first day on campus. So everything is white. And slippery. But amazing. The campus lake is frozen over and the campus forest is A FOREST ON CAMPUS.
Some other great things about France are: pastries, dubbed old tv shows that played in Australia about 10 years ago, weird keyboards, trams every 8 minutes.
Things I didn’t realize I would miss include: real milk, English breakfast (the meal, not the tea), driving, wearing skirts, coffee (only because there’s no café within 2 metres of here), garbage collectors (they’re on strike).
My place is basically next to the arts building, and just as close on the other side is the tram stop and the local shops. So I basically don’t need to go anywhere ever. I’ve started taking the stairs instead of the elevator so that I don’t get deep vein or something.
The people at Orléans uni are probably the nicest people I’ve ever met. I’d heard horrendous things about French administration and bureaucracy, but apparently they’re doing everything for / with us.. from showing us exactly how to enroll to helping us open a bank account and lending us plates. It’s pretty sweet. I would even say tubular.
So yeah if anyone got somehow directed here because they’re planning on coming to Orléans on exchange, feel free to read on for potential handy tips slash reassurances.
Bai4now
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)