it was sunny, but now there are clouds.
i sat in the Jardin du Luxembourg and read the paper. finding out what the socialist party is up to. wondering what's with the 'frigidaire' references to Segolene Royal.
i'm falling more in love with the gardens. i like that people go there to do stuff. to play tennis, to play chess, to read, to stroll, to play with boats in the fountains, to make out, to jog, to work. there's a lot going on. there's a lot of solitary strolling. there's chairs everywhere for people to set themselves up in groups big and small. and there's brown leaves falling from trees and skirting along the ground. eventually they're collected, by men in overalls, driving tractors, and dumped into cages of dead leaves.
was feeling a bit down after germany. i had to re-adjust to being alone, to lots of silence, to having to motivate myself to do things. spent a few days studying, which is necessary, yet feels like a waste of my time here.
things improved yesterday, and part of that was seeing otto; or up with dead people - a film by bruce la bruce which screened at the gay and lesbian film festival. it was quite hilarious. bruce was there to take some questions afterwards. i then felt less shy, so went to a bar.
i went to Raidd and witnessed a shower performance. it was disappointing. upon hearing about this, i imagined a purely voyeuristic experience in which men would simply shower for the visual pleasure of patrons, without interaction. but this guy was all about working it for the audience. a stripper, no less. with soap and water, and a pair of underwear that ended up around his ankles. he had a huge cock, and unfortunately, that's what it was all about. soaping and thrusting his erection to the open mouthed boys on the other side of the glass. and girls. there were plenty of girls there too, which was nice to see. but yeah, the audience response was far more interesting than the performance. if it was my club there'd be no cock-thrusting, no eye-contact, just some simple everyday showering. and maybe some other bathroom cleansing and grooming activities. like shaving. and the brushing of teeth.
off to see another film tonight. considering a day trip to brussels tomorrow. yet to plan my movements post monday, in which i will head south to warmer climates and strange unknown destinations.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Farid
i'd just been to the Gare de l'Est to pick up my ticket for Augsburg (and buy a return) and was feeling pleased with myself. i spoke in mostly French, but some English, and managed to get it all done. even asked about the Eurail pass i wanted, but seems i have to go to Gare du Nord for that.
i had a few items to buy from the supermarket, but thought i'd head in the direction of Culture Rapid café, where i could grab a drink and see what's on. i did my shopping, but the café was not where i thought it was. i was walking and searching when this guy stops me to ask the time.
he then asks if i live around here. i explain that no, i'm staying in the 5eme, and that i'm from australia. he tells me he speaks english, almost excited by the fact. i ask if he's english, but he's french, he just spends a lot of time in england. he wants to chat. but so do i, cos chatting is a rare occurrence for me on these streets. we speak half french, half english, but i try to keep it fairly french for the sake of practice. he tells me about his love of london for the fashion scene. he asks if i like discothéques. tells me he likes discothéques. asks me if i go to The Marais (obviously sussing out if I was gay or not). i say i've been to a couple of bars there. he points out that there's discotéches for gay boys there, then asks me if i'm a gay boy. i say yeah. he tells me he likes my style (pronounced 'steel').
he asks if we can walk and i say sure. he wants to go somewhere 'discrit' but i say no, i'd rather just talk. so we talk about who we are and what we do. i learn that his name is Farid. i guessed he's about 40. he lives in the 9eme, works in a shop, and likes fashion. he starts listing fashion designers, some of whom i recognise. he likes it when i recognise them - it seems to affirm our commonality or something. he asks me if i like cologne. i say yes and hold up my wrist for him to smell. he likes issey miyake, has some of his own. he starts reeling off positive adjectives to illustrate how much he likes Issey Miyake. he says that Miyake is a very important man.
he keeps thinking i'm from england, and tells me many times how much he loves london, the fashion there, picaddily circus, and other places that i forget.
he asks about Mark and what he does. he asks about what i do. i tell him research and he says "you work in a shop?" and something about bijouterie (jewellery). no, i work at a university and i study. he seems eager for me to be like him.
he then starts asking more specific questions about what i like to do sexually, whether i sleep with girls also, and how i define my sexuality. i respond honestly. it's not as though i'm offended by these questions. though i do realise there's a likelihood that i'm fueling certain desires of his. and sure enough, he again suggests a discrete place. i say no.
all this time we're trying to find the Oberkampft metro. i'm checking my map because i don't trust his directions. he seems keen to walk in any direction, presumably on the lookout for a somewhere discrete. but we stick to the main streets. he asks a passer-by for directions at one point, which is helpful.
We find the metro and it's time to say goodbye. he signals for me to step into a side street to say au revoir. i do. we kiss each cheek and then he waits for a kiss on the lips. i lean in to kiss him. unfortunately he's very sloppy and wets my face with his tongue. i wonder how someone can be his age and not yet know how to kiss.
he wants me to call him. i tell him maybe. he gives me his number. he says the best time to call is between 7.30 and 8.30. is he married? why all this talk of discretion and now this small window for phone calls. but he had mentioned that he's only ever slept with men, that he's had boyfriends. yet, he doesn't know how to kiss. at least his failed kiss confirmed that he didn't just want me in a discrete place in order to stab me and take my money. though i'd sensed that early on. he was genuine. lonely, but not a psychopath. i wasn't particularly attracted to him, but i wasn't not attracted either. and i was lonely too. when i looked him directly in the face there was a spark of something there. i think it was his smile. and his confidence. but i knew that i didn't want to have sex with him. and i know that i won't call him. he probably knows this too, as i was reluctant to take his number. but who knows what he makes of our encounter.
i do admire his bravado for stopping someone in the street (asking for the time, no less) on the basis of attraction. i doubt that's something i could ever do. instead, i rely on the bravado of others for such experiences.
he walks down his side of the metro and i walk down mine. he steals another quick kiss before we part. i see him across the platform, then realise there's no ticket machine, so i can't get through. i go back up to the street. i walk home.
i had a few items to buy from the supermarket, but thought i'd head in the direction of Culture Rapid café, where i could grab a drink and see what's on. i did my shopping, but the café was not where i thought it was. i was walking and searching when this guy stops me to ask the time.
he then asks if i live around here. i explain that no, i'm staying in the 5eme, and that i'm from australia. he tells me he speaks english, almost excited by the fact. i ask if he's english, but he's french, he just spends a lot of time in england. he wants to chat. but so do i, cos chatting is a rare occurrence for me on these streets. we speak half french, half english, but i try to keep it fairly french for the sake of practice. he tells me about his love of london for the fashion scene. he asks if i like discothéques. tells me he likes discothéques. asks me if i go to The Marais (obviously sussing out if I was gay or not). i say i've been to a couple of bars there. he points out that there's discotéches for gay boys there, then asks me if i'm a gay boy. i say yeah. he tells me he likes my style (pronounced 'steel').
he asks if we can walk and i say sure. he wants to go somewhere 'discrit' but i say no, i'd rather just talk. so we talk about who we are and what we do. i learn that his name is Farid. i guessed he's about 40. he lives in the 9eme, works in a shop, and likes fashion. he starts listing fashion designers, some of whom i recognise. he likes it when i recognise them - it seems to affirm our commonality or something. he asks me if i like cologne. i say yes and hold up my wrist for him to smell. he likes issey miyake, has some of his own. he starts reeling off positive adjectives to illustrate how much he likes Issey Miyake. he says that Miyake is a very important man.
he keeps thinking i'm from england, and tells me many times how much he loves london, the fashion there, picaddily circus, and other places that i forget.
he asks about Mark and what he does. he asks about what i do. i tell him research and he says "you work in a shop?" and something about bijouterie (jewellery). no, i work at a university and i study. he seems eager for me to be like him.
he then starts asking more specific questions about what i like to do sexually, whether i sleep with girls also, and how i define my sexuality. i respond honestly. it's not as though i'm offended by these questions. though i do realise there's a likelihood that i'm fueling certain desires of his. and sure enough, he again suggests a discrete place. i say no.
all this time we're trying to find the Oberkampft metro. i'm checking my map because i don't trust his directions. he seems keen to walk in any direction, presumably on the lookout for a somewhere discrete. but we stick to the main streets. he asks a passer-by for directions at one point, which is helpful.
We find the metro and it's time to say goodbye. he signals for me to step into a side street to say au revoir. i do. we kiss each cheek and then he waits for a kiss on the lips. i lean in to kiss him. unfortunately he's very sloppy and wets my face with his tongue. i wonder how someone can be his age and not yet know how to kiss.
he wants me to call him. i tell him maybe. he gives me his number. he says the best time to call is between 7.30 and 8.30. is he married? why all this talk of discretion and now this small window for phone calls. but he had mentioned that he's only ever slept with men, that he's had boyfriends. yet, he doesn't know how to kiss. at least his failed kiss confirmed that he didn't just want me in a discrete place in order to stab me and take my money. though i'd sensed that early on. he was genuine. lonely, but not a psychopath. i wasn't particularly attracted to him, but i wasn't not attracted either. and i was lonely too. when i looked him directly in the face there was a spark of something there. i think it was his smile. and his confidence. but i knew that i didn't want to have sex with him. and i know that i won't call him. he probably knows this too, as i was reluctant to take his number. but who knows what he makes of our encounter.
i do admire his bravado for stopping someone in the street (asking for the time, no less) on the basis of attraction. i doubt that's something i could ever do. instead, i rely on the bravado of others for such experiences.
he walks down his side of the metro and i walk down mine. he steals another quick kiss before we part. i see him across the platform, then realise there's no ticket machine, so i can't get through. i go back up to the street. i walk home.
Friday, October 31, 2008
froid
thursday, late afternoon.
it's 3 degrees outside. i went for a walk, since i hadn't left the house. i probably shouldn't have. i got lost (as per usual) but this time i was a bit cold, and it was raining, and my hands were freezing. i was getting more and more angry as i kept not finding my way home. i would have put my hands in my pockets were i not carrying an umbrella and some bread i bought in my travels. i wanted to hit people and cars with my umbrella. today was not a good day to weave through pedestrians and cars and puddles.
anyway, my hands are nearly defrosted now, and i'm eating a croissant aux amande to improve my mood. and having a cup of peppermint tea. and thinking that i'm glad i didn't come in the middle of winter, when it's like this all the time. tomorrow will only reach 5 degrees, but by next week it's supposed to get back to 15.
i need to get an umbrella, as mine is wrecked. today i borrowed alice's, which is orange and has 'ikea family' written on it. i don't know whether that's as daggy as i imagine here. i would have assumed so, but in thinking about what stéfan said about starbucks, i'm not so sure. apparently starbucks are quite exotic here. they're everywhere and very well patronised. this surprised me, particularly given that it's american, and that it challenges a french café tradition. but according to stéfan they're exotic because you can try things you wouldn't get anywhere else.
so yeah, i do question the commonly held belief that french people have refined and exquisite taste. and there's plenty of dodgy food, art, fashion, and politics around her to attest to that. which is actually quite comforting.
last night i watched kim ki-duk's 'the isle' at the cinema around the corner. i'm getting more and more impressed with his films. it was so beautifully composed, erotic, yet violent and uncomfortable (symbolising love, i guess). you don't get a lot of information from his films, but they make sense through symbolism, repetition, choregraphy. the cinema is having a retrospective of south korean films, so tonight i'll return for 'the coast guard, another kim ki-duk film.
there are 4 cinemas in my block. 3 of them are on the same street. all 4 seem to specialise in retrospectives (festivals) and classic films. which is rather special indeed. old films in old cinemas. tuesday i got to see 'the bicycle thief' on the big screen.
from the bicycle thief:
it's 3 degrees outside. i went for a walk, since i hadn't left the house. i probably shouldn't have. i got lost (as per usual) but this time i was a bit cold, and it was raining, and my hands were freezing. i was getting more and more angry as i kept not finding my way home. i would have put my hands in my pockets were i not carrying an umbrella and some bread i bought in my travels. i wanted to hit people and cars with my umbrella. today was not a good day to weave through pedestrians and cars and puddles.
anyway, my hands are nearly defrosted now, and i'm eating a croissant aux amande to improve my mood. and having a cup of peppermint tea. and thinking that i'm glad i didn't come in the middle of winter, when it's like this all the time. tomorrow will only reach 5 degrees, but by next week it's supposed to get back to 15.
i need to get an umbrella, as mine is wrecked. today i borrowed alice's, which is orange and has 'ikea family' written on it. i don't know whether that's as daggy as i imagine here. i would have assumed so, but in thinking about what stéfan said about starbucks, i'm not so sure. apparently starbucks are quite exotic here. they're everywhere and very well patronised. this surprised me, particularly given that it's american, and that it challenges a french café tradition. but according to stéfan they're exotic because you can try things you wouldn't get anywhere else.
so yeah, i do question the commonly held belief that french people have refined and exquisite taste. and there's plenty of dodgy food, art, fashion, and politics around her to attest to that. which is actually quite comforting.
last night i watched kim ki-duk's 'the isle' at the cinema around the corner. i'm getting more and more impressed with his films. it was so beautifully composed, erotic, yet violent and uncomfortable (symbolising love, i guess). you don't get a lot of information from his films, but they make sense through symbolism, repetition, choregraphy. the cinema is having a retrospective of south korean films, so tonight i'll return for 'the coast guard, another kim ki-duk film.
there are 4 cinemas in my block. 3 of them are on the same street. all 4 seem to specialise in retrospectives (festivals) and classic films. which is rather special indeed. old films in old cinemas. tuesday i got to see 'the bicycle thief' on the big screen.
from the bicycle thief:
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
finding comfort in food
Been a bit down today. Somewhat fragile. I got lost on the metro and felt like crying. Like a child lost in a shopping centre – all noise and chaos and people larger than life. I asked a man for help (something I’ve managed to avoid until now) and he pointed me in the right direction, which was really nice.
I went to 12eme for coffee with my new ami Stéphan. I was a bit flustered after the metro thing, so chose to speak in English. Next time we’ll speak French. He asked if I was lonely and I said “a little”, but mentioned that I’ll be going to Germany to see a friend on the weekend, and that I spent some time with Alice. But yeah, I’m lonely. He speaks English with a hardcore British accent, having learnt it while living there. He asked if I’d been listening to the radio. I said yes, all the time.
I told him about the man who criticised my accent and he consoled me.
I walked home, despite advice on a direct bus route. I didn’t trust myself to catch any buses or trains, and knew that walking was safe. It might also help me. And I think it did. My favourite thing on the way back was seeing two women having coffee and cigarettes on the kerb, with a bicycle between them being used as a table for their espresso cups and saucers.
Another favourite thing was last week when I saw a couple, guy and girl, sitting in a café window. On the window side they held hands, and in their other hands they held books. Each was separately and intently reading, yet their fingers were entwined on the table. Together, but not. It was very cute.
These are the things I seem to remember. Unlike street names.
I wanted to plug myself into my ipod on the walk home, but I didn’t have it with me. I wanted to listen to the Once soundtrack. I thought maybe I could do this in the park, while eating Algerian pastries. But then it rained.
Food seems the best measure for my current state, so I bought pastries and bread and ducked into Monoprix for another batch of groceries. This time I discovered ‘red dream’ – a drink of puréed strawberries and raspberries. It’s thick, rich, and very yum. Like a dream, in fact. I watered it down with some Perrier lime, which seems to make it more dreamlike. Now I’m eating blue cheese on pain de siegle (rye). I bought more cheese (camembert in a wooden box), more chocolate (white with apricots and pepitas), and biscuits. I bought healthy foods too, but these are my medicines for now.
I went to 12eme for coffee with my new ami Stéphan. I was a bit flustered after the metro thing, so chose to speak in English. Next time we’ll speak French. He asked if I was lonely and I said “a little”, but mentioned that I’ll be going to Germany to see a friend on the weekend, and that I spent some time with Alice. But yeah, I’m lonely. He speaks English with a hardcore British accent, having learnt it while living there. He asked if I’d been listening to the radio. I said yes, all the time.
I told him about the man who criticised my accent and he consoled me.
I walked home, despite advice on a direct bus route. I didn’t trust myself to catch any buses or trains, and knew that walking was safe. It might also help me. And I think it did. My favourite thing on the way back was seeing two women having coffee and cigarettes on the kerb, with a bicycle between them being used as a table for their espresso cups and saucers.
Another favourite thing was last week when I saw a couple, guy and girl, sitting in a café window. On the window side they held hands, and in their other hands they held books. Each was separately and intently reading, yet their fingers were entwined on the table. Together, but not. It was very cute.
These are the things I seem to remember. Unlike street names.
I wanted to plug myself into my ipod on the walk home, but I didn’t have it with me. I wanted to listen to the Once soundtrack. I thought maybe I could do this in the park, while eating Algerian pastries. But then it rained.
Food seems the best measure for my current state, so I bought pastries and bread and ducked into Monoprix for another batch of groceries. This time I discovered ‘red dream’ – a drink of puréed strawberries and raspberries. It’s thick, rich, and very yum. Like a dream, in fact. I watered it down with some Perrier lime, which seems to make it more dreamlike. Now I’m eating blue cheese on pain de siegle (rye). I bought more cheese (camembert in a wooden box), more chocolate (white with apricots and pepitas), and biscuits. I bought healthy foods too, but these are my medicines for now.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
rue de la sorbonne
Mercredi, 22 October, 10.54am
Spent my first night at chez Alice. I’m a bit in love with my new temporary home. Small and cosy. One room, and a bathroom I have to walk through sideways. Not a lot of arm room in the shower, as I discovered this morning. But it works. Tout est agréable. The heating is permanently on, so without the window open it’s too warm and I feel sleepy. Perhaps this is why the German’s had the heater on all the time - maybe it’s a cold Europe thing.
Yesterday I washed clothes, did some grocery shopping, unpacked my bags, made a bed, made coffee and tea... and felt great pleasure in all of this. After a week of traipsing about, it’s nice knowing I have 21 days here. That I won’t be dragging my suitcase across uneven (yet pretty) paving for some time. I walked here through rain, knowing it didn’t matter if I got wet, because I had a home awaiting me, and all the luxuries that come with that – refrigerated food, a shower, a toilet, warm and clean clothing, a bed, a view of the Sorbonne.
It seems a lot of locals don’t have such things. The homeless are different to those in Australia. There, the more visible homeless (those who ask for money) appear to have drug dependencies, and are often young. Here, people asking for money are typically old, and often silent but for the gesture of holding out a cup of coins. I find it more upsetting. The person asking for spare change in Surry Hills (assuming they’re homeless at all) has the potential to find accommodation, to change their situation. The 80 year old woman on Pont Notre Dame does not. Her eyes are piercing and sad.
One week down, five to go. My reading skills are much improved, but I still struggle to comprehend spoken words. Which frustrates me, as I’d like to have a conversation. I put the radio on first thing this morning but found it difficult to concentrate, and tiring.
After breakfast, I did a little work on my Research Proposal. I don’t have the net here for another week, so now is the time for this. Just me, unconnected, with lots of words to give. With my inability to have conversations, I find I’m writing a lot more – as per my wordy emails and blogging. I also have a written journal, in which writing is easier, and editing is absent, as I’m not thinking about you (the reader). It sits in my backpack and comes out when I stop in gardens and cafés, to rest my feet, or fill my belly.
Spent my first night at chez Alice. I’m a bit in love with my new temporary home. Small and cosy. One room, and a bathroom I have to walk through sideways. Not a lot of arm room in the shower, as I discovered this morning. But it works. Tout est agréable. The heating is permanently on, so without the window open it’s too warm and I feel sleepy. Perhaps this is why the German’s had the heater on all the time - maybe it’s a cold Europe thing.
Yesterday I washed clothes, did some grocery shopping, unpacked my bags, made a bed, made coffee and tea... and felt great pleasure in all of this. After a week of traipsing about, it’s nice knowing I have 21 days here. That I won’t be dragging my suitcase across uneven (yet pretty) paving for some time. I walked here through rain, knowing it didn’t matter if I got wet, because I had a home awaiting me, and all the luxuries that come with that – refrigerated food, a shower, a toilet, warm and clean clothing, a bed, a view of the Sorbonne.
It seems a lot of locals don’t have such things. The homeless are different to those in Australia. There, the more visible homeless (those who ask for money) appear to have drug dependencies, and are often young. Here, people asking for money are typically old, and often silent but for the gesture of holding out a cup of coins. I find it more upsetting. The person asking for spare change in Surry Hills (assuming they’re homeless at all) has the potential to find accommodation, to change their situation. The 80 year old woman on Pont Notre Dame does not. Her eyes are piercing and sad.
One week down, five to go. My reading skills are much improved, but I still struggle to comprehend spoken words. Which frustrates me, as I’d like to have a conversation. I put the radio on first thing this morning but found it difficult to concentrate, and tiring.
After breakfast, I did a little work on my Research Proposal. I don’t have the net here for another week, so now is the time for this. Just me, unconnected, with lots of words to give. With my inability to have conversations, I find I’m writing a lot more – as per my wordy emails and blogging. I also have a written journal, in which writing is easier, and editing is absent, as I’m not thinking about you (the reader). It sits in my backpack and comes out when I stop in gardens and cafés, to rest my feet, or fill my belly.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Découvrir
(Saturday, 18 Oct, 4pm)
...means ‘to discover’. It sums up my day so far.
I accidentally found my favourite café, in the 20eme, called Culture Rapid. It had a bit of a revolutionary themed / DIY art decor. It felt nice, was friendly, with good music (Laurie Anderson when I arrived, followed by some reggae). I ordered a crepe with my coffee, so I could stay a bit longer. They have an evening events program including spoken word, cabaret, and erotic puppetry, so I’ll be making a trip back. And I only found it because I got hopelessly lost, heading to the 3eme (which is in the opposite direction). Thus proving that being lost need not be bad.
On the way to the café I also discovered a Moroccan restaurant, with €6 vegetarian cous cous. I misread the address though, and now I can’t remember where it is. I remember where I thought I was, but of course, that’s where I wasn’t. It was closed then, but should be open now. I think I’ll set out to find it, but that could be a difficult task.
The border of the 11eme and 20eme is another of my favourite spots. There’s a Vietnamese pocket, a Jewish pocket, more African people and shops, a few queers. There’s also a lot of old French traditionals – I liked how Café Progres was only patronised by old white French men.
Another discovery was my new favourite bookshop. The children’s books were amazing, and at one point I had three in my hand. I put two back (for now) after contemplating my suitcase. But I dare say I’ll return. They also had a large Kristeva selection, and cheap! €8.50 for the French version of ‘The Powers of Horror”, which I bought (half the price I’d pay in Australia; and it’s the original French text; and it’s further incentive to learn French).
My final discovery (so far) was an Algerian patisserie. So so unbelievably good! I now want to visit Algeria more than ever. For now I’ll just make do with the sweets. I tried a pistachio one and a hazelnut one (which means there’s approx 45 others I’m yet to taste).
Something’s going on outside. Rue de Filles du Calvaire was blocked off when I passed through, with Police everywhere, and I could here a marching band. Now I can hear street crowds. Maybe it’s some special day. Watching the traffic was quite amusing though. All the side streets had traffic jams that weren’t able to move anywhere, and horn tooting was getting more and more frequent.
Time now to cherche pour les cous cous. And maybe I’ll see what all this racket’s about.
...means ‘to discover’. It sums up my day so far.
I accidentally found my favourite café, in the 20eme, called Culture Rapid. It had a bit of a revolutionary themed / DIY art decor. It felt nice, was friendly, with good music (Laurie Anderson when I arrived, followed by some reggae). I ordered a crepe with my coffee, so I could stay a bit longer. They have an evening events program including spoken word, cabaret, and erotic puppetry, so I’ll be making a trip back. And I only found it because I got hopelessly lost, heading to the 3eme (which is in the opposite direction). Thus proving that being lost need not be bad.
On the way to the café I also discovered a Moroccan restaurant, with €6 vegetarian cous cous. I misread the address though, and now I can’t remember where it is. I remember where I thought I was, but of course, that’s where I wasn’t. It was closed then, but should be open now. I think I’ll set out to find it, but that could be a difficult task.
The border of the 11eme and 20eme is another of my favourite spots. There’s a Vietnamese pocket, a Jewish pocket, more African people and shops, a few queers. There’s also a lot of old French traditionals – I liked how Café Progres was only patronised by old white French men.
Another discovery was my new favourite bookshop. The children’s books were amazing, and at one point I had three in my hand. I put two back (for now) after contemplating my suitcase. But I dare say I’ll return. They also had a large Kristeva selection, and cheap! €8.50 for the French version of ‘The Powers of Horror”, which I bought (half the price I’d pay in Australia; and it’s the original French text; and it’s further incentive to learn French).
My final discovery (so far) was an Algerian patisserie. So so unbelievably good! I now want to visit Algeria more than ever. For now I’ll just make do with the sweets. I tried a pistachio one and a hazelnut one (which means there’s approx 45 others I’m yet to taste).
Something’s going on outside. Rue de Filles du Calvaire was blocked off when I passed through, with Police everywhere, and I could here a marching band. Now I can hear street crowds. Maybe it’s some special day. Watching the traffic was quite amusing though. All the side streets had traffic jams that weren’t able to move anywhere, and horn tooting was getting more and more frequent.
Time now to cherche pour les cous cous. And maybe I’ll see what all this racket’s about.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
approaching the Sorbonne
Fri 17th, 5pm.
has it only been three days?
my feet are tired from constant walking. i walk until i'm unquestionably lost, and then i check my map and walk some more. the streets are small, curved, and defy any order. paired with my sense of direction, i'm resigned to always being a bit lost.
i'm now in the 11th arrondissement, where it meets the 10th and 3rd. all three are joined by the Place de la Republique, a junction of many roads. i always feel like i'm on the right one, but i'm always not. so i walk circles for hours, until i check my map.
today i walked over several bridges, and through hoardes of tourists (on Ile de la Cité where Notre Dame is) to meet Alice, whose apartment I'll be staying in for 3 weeks, from Monday.
Alice lives in the 5th arrondissement, right fucking next to the Sorbonne! I was feeling a bit acquainted with Paris, but the 5th did something to me. It seemed obvious that I was approaching a uni hub. And then i passed more and more bookshops, including one just selling 'sciences humaine' texts. they were closed for lunch. just when i was all aflutter with a quickened pulse i walked past a fence signposted 'Square Michel Foucault'. oh my. it was next to College de France. i was early, so walked around the block. students everywhere, and more bookshops. including one with drawers protruding from the shopfront, spilling books onto the street.
Alice was nice. she's an archaeologist and studies at the College de France. she's from Italy, but has lived in Spain, US, Egypt, and now France. She speaks 4 languages, but says Italian doesn't count, as that's her native tongue. she speaks a lot, with intensity, and that was hard to digest after days of no conversation. i'll meet her again tomorrow, and this time we'll speak more French, less English.
she tells me you're not allowed to enter the Sorbonne without ID to show that you're a student. damn! and sure enough, security guards were checking everyone.
I'm eating too much cheese. this morning i woke up with a tummy ache. but then i ate chocolate for breakfast, and an apple tartlet. and just now, more cheese. and now i sink into this mattress, close to sleep.
has it only been three days?
my feet are tired from constant walking. i walk until i'm unquestionably lost, and then i check my map and walk some more. the streets are small, curved, and defy any order. paired with my sense of direction, i'm resigned to always being a bit lost.
i'm now in the 11th arrondissement, where it meets the 10th and 3rd. all three are joined by the Place de la Republique, a junction of many roads. i always feel like i'm on the right one, but i'm always not. so i walk circles for hours, until i check my map.
today i walked over several bridges, and through hoardes of tourists (on Ile de la Cité where Notre Dame is) to meet Alice, whose apartment I'll be staying in for 3 weeks, from Monday.
Alice lives in the 5th arrondissement, right fucking next to the Sorbonne! I was feeling a bit acquainted with Paris, but the 5th did something to me. It seemed obvious that I was approaching a uni hub. And then i passed more and more bookshops, including one just selling 'sciences humaine' texts. they were closed for lunch. just when i was all aflutter with a quickened pulse i walked past a fence signposted 'Square Michel Foucault'. oh my. it was next to College de France. i was early, so walked around the block. students everywhere, and more bookshops. including one with drawers protruding from the shopfront, spilling books onto the street.
Alice was nice. she's an archaeologist and studies at the College de France. she's from Italy, but has lived in Spain, US, Egypt, and now France. She speaks 4 languages, but says Italian doesn't count, as that's her native tongue. she speaks a lot, with intensity, and that was hard to digest after days of no conversation. i'll meet her again tomorrow, and this time we'll speak more French, less English.
she tells me you're not allowed to enter the Sorbonne without ID to show that you're a student. damn! and sure enough, security guards were checking everyone.
I'm eating too much cheese. this morning i woke up with a tummy ache. but then i ate chocolate for breakfast, and an apple tartlet. and just now, more cheese. and now i sink into this mattress, close to sleep.
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