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February 24 Is there a stronger word than 'lost'?When in Rome, do as the Greeks do. It seems this phrase has never made any more sense as now. Thus, when stuck in a room full of screaming, shouting and possibly inebriated Frenchies, the sensible thing seems to do a blog™ in English. Anyway, be prepared to be stunned, amazed and probably very scared as myself and Andrew recount to you the rather varied events of the day we spent in and around Bordeaux.
The sensible first place to start would, we can assume, be the beginning, and so lets start there. Upon arriving at the lycée, we soon discovered that we would all be very bored spending the entire day in the slightly funky-smelling bar the likes of which I have already described. So, after an entire hour of some daffy Frenchie drilling home why 1917 was an important year in terms of the first world war, It was decreed that we should paint the town red. (Or whatever colour happened to be in fashion at the time, which, in fact, turned out to be mildly pink. I think I'd have prefered red.) The first problem came at the bus stop, a whole 20 metres from the college itself, which has to be some sort of record. It turns out that the next bus would be in 5 hours, despite the fact one had just driven past. Confused and disorientated, we moseyed on up to the turnaround (well, ran frantically) to catch the bus and spend several minutes doing battle with the ticket machine before it finally gave in to the fact we were etrangères (Both foreign and strange) and let us on. After a quick stop at pixetotellotelo, we jumped on the tram. Before that, however, we had another battle with another ticket machine, after it refused to accept €5 in more than 16 coins and we had to leap onto the train in true mission impossible stylee, with Lorna holding the door as me and Suzanne dived through said porthole.
We arrived, eventually, at the place de la victoire. And McDonalds. It has to be noted that French McDonalds are somewhat different to English ones - they hide their BBQ and sweet and sour sauces, hire tramps to gather any loose change and use the worst French (English really) in their menus ever. Passing the fantastically titled "Speed Rabbit Pizza" on the way to the shops never grows old, it seems, and we were off. Well; Suzanne and Lorna had some sort of jwellery-seeking device implanted within them at birth, so we followed obligingly. Until, that is, we went into the ultimate Goth shop with the rather non-biblical and rather random name of Mesopotamia. Continuing on our trek down the big shopping promenade of Bordeaux, we eventually came across Fnac, and panicked slightly when we found out we were lost in the music section. One tea and a search for the toilet later, we re-emerged, saw the theatre; place de quinconces and the river before going back on ourseleves, finding a toilet in Gallerie de Lafayette (The likes of which one can only enter if they have a stack of hundred Euro bills as tall as themselves) and stepping out through a side door into another world.
Gone were the numerous shops and restaurants and there was a rather large Basilica, two Vietnamese restaurants (well, Salmonella breeding grounds really) and a few sex shops. Finally (After some twenty minutes of frantic scowering of the streets and back alleys of Bordeaux, we found and homed in upon a McDonalds which, by an extraordinary concidence, happened to have the arche de la Victoire next to it. Now, normally; when one steps into a sqaure with McDonalds on, one doesn't expect to see several elephants ice-skating the balero. Today, it occured to me, was no exception. I didn't expect, though, to see some sort of huge student strike and les gendarmes out in force, which was an exception. Upon rediscovering Suzanne and Lorna (And their huge quantities of purchases) we attempted to get some more tickets. Fat lot of luck there, then. The getting of the tickets wasn't a problem, but the actual recivieving of them was. Andrew took his ticket and ran on the tram, leaving me and Suzanne to fight the machine for a further three and Lorna stood in the door screaming that it was shutting on her. Which it was, in fairness.
So, all in all, a fairly eventful day, if Hitler by the same standards was fairly nasty. I got lost in a city that isn't Manchester (For once), the girls bought lots of oddly smelling 80s garments, and we all got a cheap laugh at some French lady doing battle with her spilt shopping on a moving bus. A 100% successful trip, then. February 22 Someone keeps nicking my bollocking question mark.Here I am again, it seems, en france. (Whoever knew that this section would have a practical use after all?) Now, I must first apologise for what may amount to atrocious spelling, however I am without a spell checking device of sorts and so I'm having to proofread. And, what is more, someone keeps stealing my sodding punctuation - and has changed the letters around a bit which has, to an extent, ennerved me. Anyway - I guess I should have played up Gaz leaving the country into the international celebration that it is, however it was a mix of indifference and general can't-be-arse-d-ness. Should you be bothered, however, (which, in fairness, makes one of you) I'm fine and quickly adapting to the French mode de vie. After sitting through an hour of Spanish in French - as confusing as it sounds, I assure thee - finding out that the French have more types of tea than we do and spending large proportions of the day in a pseudo-80s and even psuedo-er chic bar, I have to admit that this week is most probably going to be on par at least with last year.
And I've also, much to ly dismay, started to slip French into reflex use. No longer do I want to say "what" but comment, and not "what in the name of Satan's fetted foreskin are you trying to feed me now you daffy French lady" but c'est quoi, ça? As you can imagine, this is parallel to a proverbial kick in the bollocks for me, and so I apologise in advance. Also, there should be plenty of pictures when I get back - I have 2 so far, so wait with suitably baited breath to state as such but not enough to do you any harm. Thus, I feel that there is nought left to say (well there is, but it's just this stupid keyboard has confused me to buggery abound,) and I really need to get some kip if I'm going to out-English the prof d'anglaise tomorrow in what might become the most one-sided battle since the super-heavy 7th armoured division met the leaf-waving peoples of haven ghottatchans, à plus.
March 02 Le Blog™: Part I((Copied from my Journal that I kept in France with extra added bits as I recall them, so excuse the odd tensing.)) Day #1: TUESDAY Having arrived and s'installer-ed myself following the primary grilling that accompanied a foreign exchange or, indeed, having any sort of new person around the place (Not necessarily foreign. Europeans really aren't all as Xenophobic as we are.) And I've decided that I actually like it here. The neighbourhood is nice and quiet (and not quite in the middle of nowhere, as I had anticipated, however the setting its in would suggest differently. It's very Mediterranean, almost costal atmosphere. Apart from the strong smell of fish and salt water that accompanied any costal settlement.), the people are friendly and only too happy to help you should you need, or, indeed, pluck up the courage to ask them in English. Let's face it, not all of our French is perfect, and, in some cases, almost non-existent. Well, first meal consisted of a lovely 3 course meal (Or repas du soir, as the french have no word for 'tea' or 'dinner' and so say 'evening meal' rather creatively.) of an entrée, plat principal and dessert. For the entrée, we had baguette with a variety of toppings including a spicy sausage that it rather scrumptious, pâté, which I detest to put it nicely and cheese which I politely declined. Ensuite, some sweet 'n' sour curry type thing (which I'm still not sure what it was... besides nice) and followed in turn by crêpes and so I'm just about full to bursting. I guess I'm just about ready to se coucher for the evening. But, (Almost put alors there - I can see the brainwashing has begun.) I have noticed several things that are a tad different between our two nations. Firstly, why do they get super-neon-flashy-flashing pharmacy signs and we don't? I'm sure lots more people would stop complaining about the NHS for a while if they had this to take their mind off it. Also, it'd change the general topic of conversation in the chemist from the weather to the sign, if only for a week. (One little week... Please...) Secondly, (And, coincidentally, finally, as I can't be arsed to list any more.) the French are trying so hard to be English its slightly funny. Regard. Everywhere you go, you'll see English emblazoned on all the shop signs, adverts, displays, cars and newspapers. In fact, my Franglais for the Day™ has to be what I saw on the back of a 4x4 coming away from Bordeaux airport (Which is very nice by the way: very modern and just big enough to be imposing without being a Labyrinth.) There, for all to see, was [sic] "Safary." Yup. With a Y. I had to suppress the urge to laugh, as an explanation may have been slightly awkward. Just a tad. Anywho, Off I go, ready to do battle with the bitchy alarm clock and the French en masse. A demain. |
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