Quand Tu Dors

I'm really missing my guitar and making music in general. I'm far too shy to sing in this little apartment because I have quite a loud voice when I sing and I wouldn't want the neighbours to hear. So when you sleep I am up listening to music. I'm liking Lucy Rose a lot. Here's something I worked on a while ago but have not finished my cover of it. Sorry this post has no photo, but where there's no photo there's an audio!

Please listen with earphones, I'm yet to have a nice condenser microphone so have been getting by with a cheap microphone made for internet chats hence the poor audio quality.


Sneaky Preview by calicoeannecash

Le Métro de Paris

I feel that since I've neglected this blog and have only really been describing boring stuff like administration (which I only include for those who may find it helpful) not forgetting my rushed descriptions of Parisian explorations, I owe a little post that's a bit more inspirational. I've done my French homework for the week and have possibly done my maths too (I say possibly because I don't want to get out my agenda to find out if I actually do have maths homework). Therefore, I will be writing a little something about my experiences on a Parisian commodity which is a landmark in itself. The Paris Métro.

I live in the 17th arrondissement and my nearest métro stop is Rome. You'd expect it to have a lot of restaurants that play on this name in the area but I've only found a tiny pizza place called Pizza di Roma in which I saw the staff were all watching The Simpsons. As soon as you emerge out of the ground at Rome you'll find yourself facing a big open area of RER railway, lined with tall white Parisian apartments and a brasserie. I remember seeing two guys slumped in chairs facing the road (as most al fresco seating is in Paris) with a pint of beer each. I knew instantly that they were foreign and walking by them, I stood (well walked) corrected as they sounded like fellow Londoners. Walking up Boulevard des Batignolles towards my place you can see a great sight in the distance.

That sight is of the highest point in the city: La Basilique du Sacré Coeur which is all the more magnificent at night.

Rome is only on one line and that is the dark blue Ligne 2 with terminals at Nation in the east and Porte Dauphine in the west. According to a guide to the 17th which was kindly posted in my mailbox, the numbers of the lines are chronological of the time of opening and use of each line where the first métro stop was Porte Maillot also in the 17th.

I found that sometimes it is better to get off at a stop and walk to your destination instead of changing lines to board a train at a station that is only one stop away. Underground, changing lines can take forever and everyone seems to want to get away from each other as quickly as they possibly can.

During rush hour, it can get pretty packed. I know that when I'm sitting on the fold-up chairs and arrive at busy stations like the Gare du Nord, I should stand up instantly. On one particular journey, I was squashed to the end of a carriage with a buggie in front of me. Smiling within this buggie was a little girl who was sucking on her fingers. Her smile was contagious and she was saying "Bonjour! Bonjour!". The mother kept correcting her to say "Bonsoir, Inès. Bonsoir." The little Inès then thought it was quite interesting to pat my leg. Not just in one spot but up and down it, then was curious to find what was under my dress. Much to the amusement of the fellow passengers, I was trying to hold on to a rail for balance and keep my dress down. It was a bit of a Marilyn Monroe moment, but hideously more embarrassing.

One night, when I was returning home from L'Hôtel de Ville, after changing at Charles de Gaulle - Etoile, a saxophone man was blaring out Chris de Burgh's Lady In Red. When I hopped onto the train, I heard a very vague tune that I instantly recognised because I remember listening to it over and over again in order to make my own guitar cover of it. A guy a few carriages down (line 2 has no specific carriages, it's just one long train) who had a very gravelly and soulful voice was singing the Eagles's Hotel California. Unfortunately, I couldn't really hear him and I had arrived at Rome and had to get off.

The following day, I happened to be returning home from L'Hôtel de Ville at about the same time as the night before and changing at Charles de Gaulle - Etoile the same saxophone man was playing Lady in Red again. The next métro was still a few minutes away and the Mr. Saxophone had started playing Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On. Then followed a platform full of singing and dancing people. It raised the mood of the platform a lot. When he blew the final note, he was greeted with an applause intertwined with the sound of the oncoming train. When I stepped onto the train, I managed to step onto the same carriage as the busker that I heard the night before. He was setting up, tuning his guitar and had put down a tin in front of him. Another passenger had a guitar-like case which he was tapping. The busker (who sounded like he had an English accent) asked the passenger what was in the case.

"It's a Baglama. A turkish guitar." The passenger took it out and played a bit.
"I've got to get me one of those," the busker said.

The passenger continued to play, followed by the rhythmic tapping on his Baglama. When the passenger kept up this tapping, the busker started playing some chords.

"Old pirates, yes they rob I..."

His voice suited the song so perfectly. He was singing Bob Marley's Redemption Song. I could see everyone around me tapping their feet or lightly tapping their knees with their fingers. It was certainly a magical moment that left me smiling when I had to sadly get off the train for my stop. The carriage doors closed and their sweet music faded into the tunnel of the night.

When in Rome...

Va Danser

The Thinker (Le Penseur) in the garden of the Rodin Museum

This blog post is more about administration and evenings out!

During the second week, we had to have a test if we wanted to study French as a foreign language. An e-mail had been sent to us to go to a certain amphithéâtre for 9.15am sharp.

It was 11am and we were all still standing outside the lecture hall. We'd managed to get inside a few hours earlier and sit down, but then were all told to pile out again where a little woman came out and began announcing people's surnames alphabetically. No one heard her. There were about 300 of us there. I just remember thinking that the French had to seriously sort out their administration problems. They did this for a good half hour in which nothing seemed to be happening and finally just let us come in in whatever order. The most frustrating thing was that they didn't seem to be very efficient or quick with what they were doing. I signed my name, wrote down my exam paper number, went all the way to the front of the lecture hall to set down my bag and found a seat near some people I knew.

It was 12:30pm and the last few people were still signing up and setting down their bags. By the time the test finally began, everyone was extremely tired.

The first part of the exam was a listening comprehension where there were 4 multiple choice answers. The tricky part to this was reading all the multiple choice answers (which weren't the shortest things in the world) and listening to the tape at the same time. Therefore, I don't think I did very well in that section. The next two sections were grammar and reading comprehension which I found okay. I managed to finish the exam and we were told that we would get our results the next week where we would be put into classes according to our ability (and we needed to do more signing up for this).

By the third week of being in Paris, I'd managed to sort out my bank account, my mobile phone, CAF for accommodation financial aid, telephone and internet connection and my métro pass.

I chose to have a bank account with Société Générale which is quite close to my accommodation. I'd booked online and showed up on a Saturday. The man I was booked to see was still in a meeting and kept coming out at one-minute intervals to say "J'arrive! J'arrive!" When I finally managed to enter his office, I took out all the paperwork I needed to open an account: attestation de loyer (my first month's rent receipt), my passport and my Erasmus confirmation that I was studying in France. Everything seemed fine, I'd signed quite a few contracts and he'd printed out a load of sheets for me. He then had a look at my attestation de loyer, squinted and said that he would be right back after consulting with his colleague. I saw him go next door (the offices had glass walls) and saw him have a very animated convseration with his colleague who was also in the middle of a meeting. I saw scratching of heads, shrugging of shoulders, jutting out of bottom lips and even a gesture of holding binoculars to their eyes. The man returned, a bit flustered which he blamed on the heat (even though he had air-conditioning) and gave back my attestation de loyer.

"C'est illisible." He said simply with a grand showing of the palms of his hands. So the two had come to the conclusion that my rent receipt was illegible. I had to return the following Monday with my house contract instead, but I could still open my account. The guy typed away at his computer, printed some more documents for me to sign all while he was squeezing his stress ball. His printer packed up and he started fiddling with the printer: putting new paper in, taking it out, taking out the cartridge, scanning it intensely and then putting it back in and acting all surprised when the printer started working again like he was some sort of magical printer doctor. Then he went next door to the photocopying room to photocopy more paperwork. He finally sat back down at his desk in a sweat, squeezing his stress ball again and took out a big laminated book. Since I was aged 18-25, I was able to have a So Music! debit card. He turned page after page of debit card covers that I could choose from, all with a musical theme. Of course I went for the electric guitar.

I left the bank with a massive wad of paper and a promise that I would get my important details (like security codes etc.) through the post and would have to return the following Saturday for my debit card.

I'd researched into getting mobile phones here. Typically, it's not as easy as in England. You can't get a free sim over the internet and just top it up to use 'pay as you go'. The pay as you go contract here is more of a cheap monthly contract. You top up a certain amount and according to how much you've topped up, that amount will last you a certain amount of days. For instance, if I topped up 15 euros, it would have an expiration date of a month. If I did not use that credit for the whole month, it would be lost when the month is up and does not carry on to the next month. After many trips to my nearest La Poste since I discovered they had a photocopier there, I managed to make friends with the people who worked there. This just shows how many times I went in and needed to photocopy something. Damn French bureaucracy! Anyway, whilst in a queue for the photocopier where a man was photocopying what seemed like his entire life invoices, I noticed a stand about La Poste Mobile where they offered a sim card. I paid 10 euros for a sim which already came with 5 euros on it. I had to fill in a form (more paperwork!) to confirm my identity where the sim card will be topped up with the 10 euros that you paid for it. I found this was the best deal for me. I already had an unlocked phone so there wasn't any problems there.

I got my estate agent to fill out a section of the CAF form, included more proof of identity and other paper work and sent it off. My estate agent had also set up the internet for me which was very nice of her and a phone line which enabled me to phone 01 and 02 numbers for free (so I could call London for free!)

In nearly all métro stations, there will be a help-desk. I went to my nearest one and asked for an Imagine R application form. Imagine R is a student discounted métro pass. I chose the year contract which was cheaper than a monthly contract which allowed me to board buses, RER and the métro. I had to attach more proof of identity and university contracts including my bank details so this included more trips back to the Post Office. Since it would take about 21 days to get to me, I decided to start my contract from the 1st October (you can only really start from the first of the month) which was very handy because last night I had gone out and it had turned midnight when I was heading home. I used my Imagine R for the first time and didn't have to worry about all my carnets (a book of ten tickets) any more. It felt good, like I was slowly becoming a Parisian.

Picnic on the Champ de Mars, I am in this photo, I did not take it.

My nights out have been numerous, they have included drinking (nearly) every Thursday at an Irish pub called Finnegan's Wake especially for Erasmus students near my university. Since my university is named after Pierre et Marie Curie, in order to have half-priced drinks the password is a certain element according to its number on the periodic table. My evenings have also included drinking by the bank of the Seine on Quai Saint-Bernard, pique-niqueing on the Champs de Mars watching the Eiffel Tower sparkle whilst eating 'mystery flavoured' Lays crips and ghost-shaped Monster Munch. I've even been to a Scottish pub called The Auld Alliance near L'Hôtel de Ville where they sell Irn-Bru and I ordered un vin blanc and the waitress didn't understand because she only spoke English! Last night I went to Café Mabillon on Boulevard Saint-Germain where I had a very French kir. I also enjoyed drinking a nice chocolat chaud at Le Cavalier Bleu near Centre Pompidou. I think if you order wine there like a friend of mine, you get free prawn crackers!

This past week, I celebrated my anniversary with my boyfriend who kindly came to Paris from London to be with me. We ate a wonderful 3-course meal at Ladurée, famous for its macaroons along the Champs Elysées. The meal came with 4 complimentary macaroons of our choice. The following day we ate at TablaPizza at Place de Clichy which is a bit like Pizza Express. It's not all been fancy, I mainly cook for myself or grab a quick caffeine fix from the little café on campus or at chains like Subway or Quick.

I've only properly been out on the town once so far at Place de la Bastille in a place called La Scène which was especially rented out for Erasmus and international students all over Paris. It took ages to get in (even though we had prepaid tickets). As soon as we entered, it was obligatoire to go upstairs and put our coats in the cloakroom. I descended back down when a security guard said my little bag was "trop gros" and was forced to pay to put my bag in as well. I saw loads of girls with bags bigger than mine waltz onto the dancefloor. Since we had been queuing for quite a while outside we all wanted to go to the toilet so there was yet more queuing for the ladies. I managed to meet more people here, including a Chinese girl who was studying at Paris IV who had come all the way from Shanghai. After the toilets, we could finally enter the dancefloor and go dance. The music was quite funny, it started off with all your standard R'n'B beats and proceeded onto Queen Anthems, the White Stripes and Spice Girls. Then the music took a Spanish turn and seemed to stay that way. It was great fun despite our fatigue and we decided to head out at about 3am. This was the first time I had to use the Noctilien (night buses). I found it quite easy to get home from Bastille, I was only scared when a homeless person who was holding a pole and was calling "Madame! Madame!" in which I power-walked it back home.

Marie-Antoinette's bedchamber in the Château de Versailles

I've managed to venture to the outskirts and out of Paris twice using the double-decker RERs, the first time to visit Ikea and the second to visit Versailles, the town, its palace and the gardens. I went with my boyfriend to the Rodin Museum which has famous sculptures like Le Baiser and Le Penseur. Other places I've been to this month include Le Cimetière de Père Lachaise where the likes of Oscar Wilde and Edith Piaf are buried.

A message for Oscar Wilde

I have also trudged up the many steps of Montmartre to visit La Basilique de Sacré Coeur. I'd entered the Sacré Coeur at about 10pm at night where I saw a lot of Parisian nuns dressed with a grey habit and white gowns just floating about the place (they look like they float when they walk really quickly). It turned out I had arrived just in time to hear their evensong.

The full moon taken from the arches of La Basilique de Sacré Coeur