yoy is a slovak version of something like 'oh man'. today i said it a lot, completely involuntarily, when i unexpectedly climbed a mountain in Devin, a town just beside Bratislava. i have never been that in awe before...i have only 10 minutes until i meet marek and roman so this will be a super-abridged version of what led me there, but i'll try to give a bit of background.
when i was wandering around vienna a couple days ago (doesn't that sound so f-ing cool to be able to casually say?), i felt extremely overwhelmed by the neoclassical splendour and just how *designed* and *magnificent* everything was. all i could think about were the photos chris had sent me of walking around the coast of ireland, how simple and beautiful the water and grass was, and i felt extremely landlocked and out of my league in such a splendid city. all day, i kept gazing at the mountains visible in the distance and wishing i had time to hike out to them and spend some time in the woods...but 6 hours in the city is hardly enough time for such endeavours.
today is my second day in bratislava; the city is small, and i saw much of it (along with the jewish museum - where i found a painting by leopold horowitz and a memorial to rabbi samuel horowitz who died in the holocaust) yesterday in a couple hours. today i wanted to take the bus out to devin castle, which i heard was pretty amazing. marek told me to wait for a sunny day, but i've always believed that castles are best seen in clouds, wind and cold, so i went anyway. the castle was indeed pretty great, and devin is an adorable little town. but the real moment was when, from the top of the castle, i noticed a road leading up a nearby mountain (hill, really, but not at all an anticlimactic hill). down from the mountain, i found that tiny little road and followed it straight up until i found myself in the middle of a slovak national nature reserve. next thing i knew, i was at the top - feet soaked by the long grass and eyes wide at the sight of the castle i had just stood on, far below me to the west. i sat for a long time, living up to my name (horowitz means man sitting on a mountain), repeating 'yoy' again and again, followed by 'holy fuck me, batman'. dude, i was mountain climbing in slovakia. everyone should come here.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
dacha tales
On Wednesday evening, we finally got out to Kostya's dacha. Getting there itself
was an ordeal, due to having rented a single bicycle, stranding Kostya and I in
downtown St-P and needing to get to his apartment in the suburbs. Kostya ended up
planting me in the Russian mix between a bus and taxi: a large van with many seats called
a Marshrutka, which follows a fairly regular route but only stops when passengers scream
at the driver that they want to get out. Kostya having told the driver I was
non-Russian-speaking, he was very helpful and told me when it was my stop. Kostya met me
there with the bike. By the time we had made the preparations at his apartment, it had
started raining, and we still had to get to the train station. What followed was about 20
minutes of me carrying Kostya's backpack and sitting on the seat of the bike while
he stood on the pedals and pedaled us to the station. Once on the train, we bought some
ice cream from the only legitimate ice cream peddler among about 10 fakes, and watched
the scenery go by and the rain stop.
At the dacha, Katya and Kostya's friend Igor joined us. I learned how to fire a
rifle, and surprisingly I was something of a natural. We had some beer and tons of
snacks, lit a fire in the stove and hung out until it was really dark and until the sauna
was hot enough; then to the sauna. After a few trips in and out of the heat, I was
treated to a Russian tradition more fun than visiting the police station: lying in the
sauna while being whipped with wet, leafy branches and then dousing yourself with
freezing cold water. I'm serious, look it up. Honestly, it feels like quite a nice
massage. After re-hydrating with a ton of juice and watching the boys barbecue some pork
over an open stove in the once-again-falling rain, we all went inside to eat and sample
the Russian vodka. As per usual with my Eastern European friends, I was expected to
demonstrate how I don't chase vodka with anything else (which is even easier with
Russian vodka because it has a smoother taste than what I'm used to), and Igor was
suitably impressed, ha. Some relaxed conversation, vodka and food later, we all crawled
into bed in the toasty bedroom. The next day was mostly spent eating snack food and
periodically climbing back into bed, but we eventually took turns taking rides around the
woods on the bike we had rented as well as Igor's bike. My Russian friends were
shocked that I basically don't know how to ride a bike, but they insisted I do it
anyway and I improved considerably. I mean, I still suck, but I feel a bit better about
it. Then we all walked down to the lake and the boys indulged in the lifelong pastime of
tall people everywhere of picking me up and throwing me around. Photos pending, of
course. Back in St-P, Kostya and I watched the Liverpool-Milan final UEFA match, half of
which I unfortunately slept through.
The next morning, after another refreshing 9 hours of sleep, we were planning to take the water tram to Petergopf (a garden outside St-P), but the clothing we had washed the night before was still soaking wet. By the time it was dry (with the help of the stove and the iron), there wasn't time to go to Petergopf; instead, we met up with Katya who had finished her classes at university, and took a good 2 hours walking around the Hermitage museum. Which was like, wow. I mean, wow. The exhibitions were breathtaking, combining Rembrandt, Picasso, Gaugin, Pisarro, Monet, ancient Rome, ancient India, and ancient everything else all inside one endless building - but even more impressive is the building itself. I was fairly unimpressed by Versailles, but although my inner socialist still jumps in and screams about the excess of gold, chandeliers and space, I was still in awe of the splendour of the Hermitage building. Unfortunately, cameras were prohibited - so no photos. Oh, another piece of info about Russia which will be useful for anyone travelling here in the future; prices for museums etc. are double to triple for foreigners what they are for Russians. Go with a Russian-speaker to pay $2 rather than $7; just make sure to not speak until you're in the actual museum.
was an ordeal, due to having rented a single bicycle, stranding Kostya and I in
downtown St-P and needing to get to his apartment in the suburbs. Kostya ended up
planting me in the Russian mix between a bus and taxi: a large van with many seats called
a Marshrutka, which follows a fairly regular route but only stops when passengers scream
at the driver that they want to get out. Kostya having told the driver I was
non-Russian-speaking, he was very helpful and told me when it was my stop. Kostya met me
there with the bike. By the time we had made the preparations at his apartment, it had
started raining, and we still had to get to the train station. What followed was about 20
minutes of me carrying Kostya's backpack and sitting on the seat of the bike while
he stood on the pedals and pedaled us to the station. Once on the train, we bought some
ice cream from the only legitimate ice cream peddler among about 10 fakes, and watched
the scenery go by and the rain stop.
At the dacha, Katya and Kostya's friend Igor joined us. I learned how to fire a
rifle, and surprisingly I was something of a natural. We had some beer and tons of
snacks, lit a fire in the stove and hung out until it was really dark and until the sauna
was hot enough; then to the sauna. After a few trips in and out of the heat, I was
treated to a Russian tradition more fun than visiting the police station: lying in the
sauna while being whipped with wet, leafy branches and then dousing yourself with
freezing cold water. I'm serious, look it up. Honestly, it feels like quite a nice
massage. After re-hydrating with a ton of juice and watching the boys barbecue some pork
over an open stove in the once-again-falling rain, we all went inside to eat and sample
the Russian vodka. As per usual with my Eastern European friends, I was expected to
demonstrate how I don't chase vodka with anything else (which is even easier with
Russian vodka because it has a smoother taste than what I'm used to), and Igor was
suitably impressed, ha. Some relaxed conversation, vodka and food later, we all crawled
into bed in the toasty bedroom. The next day was mostly spent eating snack food and
periodically climbing back into bed, but we eventually took turns taking rides around the
woods on the bike we had rented as well as Igor's bike. My Russian friends were
shocked that I basically don't know how to ride a bike, but they insisted I do it
anyway and I improved considerably. I mean, I still suck, but I feel a bit better about
it. Then we all walked down to the lake and the boys indulged in the lifelong pastime of
tall people everywhere of picking me up and throwing me around. Photos pending, of
course. Back in St-P, Kostya and I watched the Liverpool-Milan final UEFA match, half of
which I unfortunately slept through.
The next morning, after another refreshing 9 hours of sleep, we were planning to take the water tram to Petergopf (a garden outside St-P), but the clothing we had washed the night before was still soaking wet. By the time it was dry (with the help of the stove and the iron), there wasn't time to go to Petergopf; instead, we met up with Katya who had finished her classes at university, and took a good 2 hours walking around the Hermitage museum. Which was like, wow. I mean, wow. The exhibitions were breathtaking, combining Rembrandt, Picasso, Gaugin, Pisarro, Monet, ancient Rome, ancient India, and ancient everything else all inside one endless building - but even more impressive is the building itself. I was fairly unimpressed by Versailles, but although my inner socialist still jumps in and screams about the excess of gold, chandeliers and space, I was still in awe of the splendour of the Hermitage building. Unfortunately, cameras were prohibited - so no photos. Oh, another piece of info about Russia which will be useful for anyone travelling here in the future; prices for museums etc. are double to triple for foreigners what they are for Russians. Go with a Russian-speaker to pay $2 rather than $7; just make sure to not speak until you're in the actual museum.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Keep Off The Grass: how i got arrested by the russian militia
that's right, i've been in russia for three days, and i already managed to get arrested. what trip to russia would be complete without being carted down to the police station in an old van with three men in uniform? don't worry, it's all good now; but i'm sure it will make an interesting story. i promise every word of it is true.
kostya walked around downtown st-p with me all morning, and then we decided to buy some groceries and have a picnic. we reclined leisurely on the open grass of the mars fields, near a few other people doing the same. we were finished our yogurt and danishes and were simply sipping some fruit-flavoured milk when a dark blue van circa maybe 1998 drove up and three uniformed militia men got out and approached us. they asked kostya for his passport, and told us we weren't allowed to be there. when kostya asked why, they said we would leave garbage from our picnic...upon being shown that we were putting all refuse into a bag to be taken with us, they decided that what we were doing wrong was sitting on the grass (no keep-off-the-grass signs in sight, it should be noted). they asked for my passport, and kostya said i was canadian. then they asked us to come with them. kostya offered them some money (which is apparently the way these things are usually settled), but they insisted that we get into the van with them. kostya, i and one militiaman were squeezed into the van's backseat, sitting on an old towel. we drove for about 15 minutes (the back door of the van open the whole time), and eventually stopped in an alley behind a downtown building. as kostya and i climbed out of the building and entered the (unmarked) police station, a shabbily-dressed and bad-smelling young man was carted out of the trunk of the same van (apparently he was also sitting on the grass). we were all escorted past the front desk into a square, pale green room. the militiamen sat at a table on one side of the room and we three offenders sat on shabby but clean chairs on the other. the officers proceeded to question the smelly man beside me; apparently he didn't have any documents with him (never make that mistake in russia), which greatly displeased the officers; they called in another officer in civilian clothing who gave the smelly man a few sharp kicks to the leg and stomach, accusing him of being in the country illegally and ridiculing him for wearing such torn clothing. i was getting pretty freaked out at this point, having never actually sat beside a man getting beat, but stayed completely calm, assured that at least we had our passports and were cleanly dressed. finally, the officers called kostya up and started to question him. when they asked about me, he said i didn't speak or understand any russian, which was nice of him. in actuality, i understood almost everything being said, but was much more comfortable with the idea of not having to deal with these men directly. mostly they just asked questions about where we lived, where we studied, whether we worked...they had a lot of trouble figuring out how to write my name and address in russian. they also asked kostya why i wasn't freaking out or anything, haha, and told him he was being a bad influence on me (by buying me yogurt and taking me to sit on the grass?). eventually, we both signed some fairly nondescript forms, and all three of us were taken to another room to sit on benches in front of a blue wall, to wait. and wait. and wait for an entire hour. eventually another officer came and asked only kostya and i to return to the room. this time, all of us sat together at the table. the officer returned my passport and said there would be no problem for me. for kostya, though, he spent a good 20 minutes writing up a report detailing the crime - which basically said, this man was sitting on the grass - and told kostya that he would need to go to court to be fined in june (the fine being something like 10 or 20 dollars). kostya was required to write his own version of what happened on the report, which went something like "i was walking with my friend, and we bought some food and decided to sit on the grass to eat it." then they photocopied the form for him, and let us go. i don't know what happened to the smelly man. as kostya explained the whole thing to me, though, normally the police will accept bribes in such cases, but in order to keep statistics for the law they need to actually arrest people from time to time. this time they chose us.
don't sit on the grass in russia. even if you're with your russian friend who goes to sit there regularly, and even if there are no 'keep off the grass' signs. also, always - ALWAYS - carry your passport, and don't smell bad or wear torn jeans.
kostya walked around downtown st-p with me all morning, and then we decided to buy some groceries and have a picnic. we reclined leisurely on the open grass of the mars fields, near a few other people doing the same. we were finished our yogurt and danishes and were simply sipping some fruit-flavoured milk when a dark blue van circa maybe 1998 drove up and three uniformed militia men got out and approached us. they asked kostya for his passport, and told us we weren't allowed to be there. when kostya asked why, they said we would leave garbage from our picnic...upon being shown that we were putting all refuse into a bag to be taken with us, they decided that what we were doing wrong was sitting on the grass (no keep-off-the-grass signs in sight, it should be noted). they asked for my passport, and kostya said i was canadian. then they asked us to come with them. kostya offered them some money (which is apparently the way these things are usually settled), but they insisted that we get into the van with them. kostya, i and one militiaman were squeezed into the van's backseat, sitting on an old towel. we drove for about 15 minutes (the back door of the van open the whole time), and eventually stopped in an alley behind a downtown building. as kostya and i climbed out of the building and entered the (unmarked) police station, a shabbily-dressed and bad-smelling young man was carted out of the trunk of the same van (apparently he was also sitting on the grass). we were all escorted past the front desk into a square, pale green room. the militiamen sat at a table on one side of the room and we three offenders sat on shabby but clean chairs on the other. the officers proceeded to question the smelly man beside me; apparently he didn't have any documents with him (never make that mistake in russia), which greatly displeased the officers; they called in another officer in civilian clothing who gave the smelly man a few sharp kicks to the leg and stomach, accusing him of being in the country illegally and ridiculing him for wearing such torn clothing. i was getting pretty freaked out at this point, having never actually sat beside a man getting beat, but stayed completely calm, assured that at least we had our passports and were cleanly dressed. finally, the officers called kostya up and started to question him. when they asked about me, he said i didn't speak or understand any russian, which was nice of him. in actuality, i understood almost everything being said, but was much more comfortable with the idea of not having to deal with these men directly. mostly they just asked questions about where we lived, where we studied, whether we worked...they had a lot of trouble figuring out how to write my name and address in russian. they also asked kostya why i wasn't freaking out or anything, haha, and told him he was being a bad influence on me (by buying me yogurt and taking me to sit on the grass?). eventually, we both signed some fairly nondescript forms, and all three of us were taken to another room to sit on benches in front of a blue wall, to wait. and wait. and wait for an entire hour. eventually another officer came and asked only kostya and i to return to the room. this time, all of us sat together at the table. the officer returned my passport and said there would be no problem for me. for kostya, though, he spent a good 20 minutes writing up a report detailing the crime - which basically said, this man was sitting on the grass - and told kostya that he would need to go to court to be fined in june (the fine being something like 10 or 20 dollars). kostya was required to write his own version of what happened on the report, which went something like "i was walking with my friend, and we bought some food and decided to sit on the grass to eat it." then they photocopied the form for him, and let us go. i don't know what happened to the smelly man. as kostya explained the whole thing to me, though, normally the police will accept bribes in such cases, but in order to keep statistics for the law they need to actually arrest people from time to time. this time they chose us.
don't sit on the grass in russia. even if you're with your russian friend who goes to sit there regularly, and even if there are no 'keep off the grass' signs. also, always - ALWAYS - carry your passport, and don't smell bad or wear torn jeans.
photos part 1
my photos from paris:
http://mcgill.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2116108&l=f3c59&id=13615307
and from dublin: http://mcgill.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2116424&l=f3c60&id=13615307
http://mcgill.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2116108&l=f3c59&id=13615307
and from dublin: http://mcgill.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2116424&l=f3c60&id=13615307
Saturday, May 19, 2007
now i am rrreal rrrossian girrrl.
Beginning this post with another yawn. It’s 2:30am in Russia, and I’ll be waking up in just under 5 hours…but since I’m at Kostya’s apartment and he has free internet, and since there will be obviously a very long list of very interesting things to say about Russia over the next week and a half, and since I’m riding a little high on 4 cups of tea today, I figure I’ll take the time to post.
My arrival in Russia was absolutely perfect. After zero trouble from customs (and after a flight I spent in a half-sleeping daze), I walked out into the arrivals area…to be bombarded with two running hugs from Katya and Kostya, who were carrying welcome signs with my photo. I’ll scan them and post them later, they’re worth seeing. I’ve honestly never felt so welcomed in my life; anyone who has the chance to meet these two should take it, they’re something else. I plan to ask them both to marry me at some point. At the airport, they provided me with my very own week-long metropass. After a bus/metro trip to Katya’s apartment (a gorgeous, spacious 2-bedroom
she shares with her sister Sveta), I was greeted by the next part of my welcome: in order to
enter the apartment, I had to cut through a ribbon barring the door which said ‘welcome to Russia’. Inside, on the floor of the living room, lit tea candles spelled out ‘Sarahle’ (my grandfather’s pet name for me), and a long banner underneath said ‘we’re happy you’re here’. There were even balloons in the doorway. The first few hours I was in Russia consisted of all of
us periodically looking at each other and beginning to scream and go crazy. We ate Russian cake, and then they cooked me a dinner of chicken and potatoes, which we ate with Greek salad, kalamari, Tuborg beer and Hungarian wine. When Sveta came home, we all sat together and ate fruit, and she attempted to practice her English on me while I attempted to practice my Russian
on her. I’ve been trying to speak Russian as much as possible here and honestly, it’s going pretty damn well. Not so bad. i finally got to sleep - exhausted, full and slightly tipsy -
around 1am and (get this) slept until 10:30am. *9 and a half hours of sleep*!!!! i haven't felt that good in months. Next Katya showed me around the city centre. St. Petersburg isn't like anywhere I've ever been before...
the buildings are brightly-coloured but old; very majestic. They're short but extremely long. Advertisements and signs everywhere are similar in quality and style to the brightly-coloured and garish signs visible in North America's Chinatowns. Streets are extremely wide
and most cars are extremely old...oh. The metro is interesting. Now, I've been on a number of
different underground trains in a number of cities, and the one thing common to all of them is
the closed and somber silent face everyone wears once on the train. In St-P, imagine the same thing but multiplied by 1000. Katya was even shocked that I was looking
around while on the train; apparently one doesn't look around while in Russia. After the shocking
friendliness of Dublin, the reserved and proud atmosphere of St-P is really something else. In Dublin, I smiled and laughed and greeted strangers. In St-P I hold my head haughtilly, walk with a supermodel stride and if I look at anything it is with feigned disdain. Katya (back in Paris) told me that Russian women only have 3 hair colours: red, peroxide blond, and black - and all of these dyed. It's true. I saw one female all day who didn't have obviously dyed hair. And the sidewalk sounds like high heels. Women of all ages here wear belly tops. (when was the last time we did that in North America? 1999?) Tiny little stores the equivalent of convenience stores are everywhere; they each have a larger selection of alcohol than I knew existed, and a pack of cigarettes costs less than a dollar. People can be seen drinking on the street and in the bus at any time. Ice cream carts are on every street corner or more frequently, and everyone here seems to be eating ice cream bars all the time. I've already had two, neither of which were anything like the stuff at home. Oh, that's the other thing - in Dublin it never got above 12 degrees and was generally cold and rainy. Suddenly I arrive in Russia and it's 25 and sunny. Boiling hot walking around the city, but nice after all that shivering.
In the evening, Katya and I met up with Kostya and we went for bliny (basically blintzes, or stuffed crepes...but greasier than crepes and with a slightly different consistency). I had one filled with chicken and one filled with cherry, and both were delicious - and about a dollar each. Although thus far, neither Katya nor Kostya has allowed me to pay even for a water bottle. If this continues, my plan is simply to leave half my rubles for each of them on Katya's desk just before I leave. After bliny, Kostya's younger sister Yulia met up with us. Katya went home, and we three went to another restaurant and had the Russian version of pierogi - meat-filled pie, in this case. And then we went to, yes, the Russian ballet. We saw Swan Lake. It was quite gorgeous, if 3 and a half hours long. Our seats were in the absolute back row, but honestly the theatre is pretty small so it wasn't that far from the stage. The very back level of the theatre didn't have actual seats, but hard bleachers like in a stadium or something, a sharp contrast from the gilt and cushions below. We had more ice cream during intermission.
After the ballet back to Kostya's apartment, where I met his mother and uncle...who had the time of their lives trying to question me, especially after they realized that I speak some Russian. They found this extremely exciting, and seem to feel that I speak almost without an accent. Mostly they wanted to know about Canada, and Kostya's uncle got out the atlas and marvelled at how Montreal gets as cold as St-P, when Montreal is at the 45th latitude and St-P is at the 60th. Then we ate even more: Russian salad (mayo, egg and fish), bread with cheese, juice, and a layered cake with nuts. This week will likely more than make up for the 1 1/2 meals per day I was eating in Dublin.
Ok, now I really have to sleep - tomorrow we're taking the bus out to Kostya's dacha (something like a country house) and we're getting up early, and maybe we can even convince Dima to get off his lazy ass and hang out with us. I do not in the slightest doubt that there are more adventures to come. My verdict on Russia is basically what I expected: it's fascinating and exciting, but I wouldn't visit it alone.
My arrival in Russia was absolutely perfect. After zero trouble from customs (and after a flight I spent in a half-sleeping daze), I walked out into the arrivals area…to be bombarded with two running hugs from Katya and Kostya, who were carrying welcome signs with my photo. I’ll scan them and post them later, they’re worth seeing. I’ve honestly never felt so welcomed in my life; anyone who has the chance to meet these two should take it, they’re something else. I plan to ask them both to marry me at some point. At the airport, they provided me with my very own week-long metropass. After a bus/metro trip to Katya’s apartment (a gorgeous, spacious 2-bedroom
she shares with her sister Sveta), I was greeted by the next part of my welcome: in order to
enter the apartment, I had to cut through a ribbon barring the door which said ‘welcome to Russia’. Inside, on the floor of the living room, lit tea candles spelled out ‘Sarahle’ (my grandfather’s pet name for me), and a long banner underneath said ‘we’re happy you’re here’. There were even balloons in the doorway. The first few hours I was in Russia consisted of all of
us periodically looking at each other and beginning to scream and go crazy. We ate Russian cake, and then they cooked me a dinner of chicken and potatoes, which we ate with Greek salad, kalamari, Tuborg beer and Hungarian wine. When Sveta came home, we all sat together and ate fruit, and she attempted to practice her English on me while I attempted to practice my Russian
on her. I’ve been trying to speak Russian as much as possible here and honestly, it’s going pretty damn well. Not so bad. i finally got to sleep - exhausted, full and slightly tipsy -
around 1am and (get this) slept until 10:30am. *9 and a half hours of sleep*!!!! i haven't felt that good in months. Next Katya showed me around the city centre. St. Petersburg isn't like anywhere I've ever been before...
the buildings are brightly-coloured but old; very majestic. They're short but extremely long. Advertisements and signs everywhere are similar in quality and style to the brightly-coloured and garish signs visible in North America's Chinatowns. Streets are extremely wide
and most cars are extremely old...oh. The metro is interesting. Now, I've been on a number of
different underground trains in a number of cities, and the one thing common to all of them is
the closed and somber silent face everyone wears once on the train. In St-P, imagine the same thing but multiplied by 1000. Katya was even shocked that I was looking
around while on the train; apparently one doesn't look around while in Russia. After the shocking
friendliness of Dublin, the reserved and proud atmosphere of St-P is really something else. In Dublin, I smiled and laughed and greeted strangers. In St-P I hold my head haughtilly, walk with a supermodel stride and if I look at anything it is with feigned disdain. Katya (back in Paris) told me that Russian women only have 3 hair colours: red, peroxide blond, and black - and all of these dyed. It's true. I saw one female all day who didn't have obviously dyed hair. And the sidewalk sounds like high heels. Women of all ages here wear belly tops. (when was the last time we did that in North America? 1999?) Tiny little stores the equivalent of convenience stores are everywhere; they each have a larger selection of alcohol than I knew existed, and a pack of cigarettes costs less than a dollar. People can be seen drinking on the street and in the bus at any time. Ice cream carts are on every street corner or more frequently, and everyone here seems to be eating ice cream bars all the time. I've already had two, neither of which were anything like the stuff at home. Oh, that's the other thing - in Dublin it never got above 12 degrees and was generally cold and rainy. Suddenly I arrive in Russia and it's 25 and sunny. Boiling hot walking around the city, but nice after all that shivering.
In the evening, Katya and I met up with Kostya and we went for bliny (basically blintzes, or stuffed crepes...but greasier than crepes and with a slightly different consistency). I had one filled with chicken and one filled with cherry, and both were delicious - and about a dollar each. Although thus far, neither Katya nor Kostya has allowed me to pay even for a water bottle. If this continues, my plan is simply to leave half my rubles for each of them on Katya's desk just before I leave. After bliny, Kostya's younger sister Yulia met up with us. Katya went home, and we three went to another restaurant and had the Russian version of pierogi - meat-filled pie, in this case. And then we went to, yes, the Russian ballet. We saw Swan Lake. It was quite gorgeous, if 3 and a half hours long. Our seats were in the absolute back row, but honestly the theatre is pretty small so it wasn't that far from the stage. The very back level of the theatre didn't have actual seats, but hard bleachers like in a stadium or something, a sharp contrast from the gilt and cushions below. We had more ice cream during intermission.
After the ballet back to Kostya's apartment, where I met his mother and uncle...who had the time of their lives trying to question me, especially after they realized that I speak some Russian. They found this extremely exciting, and seem to feel that I speak almost without an accent. Mostly they wanted to know about Canada, and Kostya's uncle got out the atlas and marvelled at how Montreal gets as cold as St-P, when Montreal is at the 45th latitude and St-P is at the 60th. Then we ate even more: Russian salad (mayo, egg and fish), bread with cheese, juice, and a layered cake with nuts. This week will likely more than make up for the 1 1/2 meals per day I was eating in Dublin.
Ok, now I really have to sleep - tomorrow we're taking the bus out to Kostya's dacha (something like a country house) and we're getting up early, and maybe we can even convince Dima to get off his lazy ass and hang out with us. I do not in the slightest doubt that there are more adventures to come. My verdict on Russia is basically what I expected: it's fascinating and exciting, but I wouldn't visit it alone.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
yes, this always happens to me
this post, i'm even more exhausted than last time. the reason? i'm sitting at the dublin airport; it's 5:39am; i got here at 3:30am and didn't sleep before that. add to that the fact that the most sleep i got all week in dublin was 6 hours one night, and you can calculate that i'm fairly pooped. my plane boards in an hour, and i felt a very strong need to reflect on the week in dublin.
i saw przemek a total of 3 times, one of which was when he picked me up at the airport. apparently, his cold came back and prevented him from meeting up to chat or anything. i was disappointed, but at the same time i got some of the closure i needed; i just don't have anything to say to him at this point. it was nice to see him again and maybe we'll meet again someday down the line, but at this point there was just nothing to be said and i just didn't really feel like i could relax and be myself around him.
as for the reason for the title of this post...*cough cough*...the farewell between me and the guy from utah i mentioned last post (chris) became a tad more meaningful than planned. now i know this surprises no one who knows me but is definitely making me seem even more absurd than previously. it was simply the case of having spent every waking minute together for 6 straight days, not for any reason more than that we were just really comfortable together and enjoyed each other's company. we got along a little too well, even. anyway, it was a farely emotional goodbye...i'm not really sure what to say about the whole situation, except, why me? and also, that it was really great to get the chance to know him. he's off to explore the rest of ireland and drink beer in small-town pubs in order to meet tons of local old geezers who will help him develop his irish accent, and i'm on my way to discovering whether managing to travel through eastern europe really requires as much of a sense of humour as i've been warned. hm. this is all still sinking in. why is it that people i meet on trips always seem to feel i'm something special?
as for some of the events of the past few days (and let it be assumed that all of them involved chris as honestly we hung out constantly). my foot finally started feeling better so we started to explore the city pretty extensively. both chris and i are nature fanatics so we walked to quite a few parks. phoenix park was most notable for the endless fields and the random herd of spotted deer wandering around among the tourists. upon arriving at the guinness storehouse to experience the much-touristed tour, a frenchman standing by the gate happened to hand us two free passes to the storehouse, thus saving us €15 each. the tour itself was unremarkable, but worthwhile for the gorgeous view of the city from the pub on the top floor. we both wanted to see the bay and so walked as far east as the road would go (not far; dublin's a pretty tiny city), discovering not the bay (as it was blocked by construction sites), but quaint and interesting residential neighbourhoods featuring tiny houses with tiny doors that looked the perfect size for, well, me. chris had never eaten indian food or been to a nice restaurant, so we did that, and i got to teach him how to order and eat indian food. we discovered a particular bar in the long strip of central bars which is constantly packed with happy, singing people, and spent a ton of time there people-watching. the best person we met there was the drunken irishman named raymond who kept high-fiving us and trying to make the moves on an uninterested young woman from baltimore. he also bought us some irish coffees without a word, just left them on the table in front of us. probably the best part of the trip was the daytrip to a couple towns south of dublin. we took the commuter train about 45 minutes to dun laghoure (i think i'm spelling that wrong but you get the picture), and walked along the coast - finally discovering the sea. two towns south in dalkey, we ate a very modern variety of traditional irish food at a cafe that had both irish bacon and eggs, and statues of buddha in the corners. it was great to get out of the city and be surrounded by green, fresh air and water. we also saw spiderman 3 when it rained again, and it was not as bad as i expected. 2 more interesting meals: we stumbled upon a georgian restaurant with a cheap lunch menu while i was waiting for my laundry to be done, and enjoyed the flustered waitress' attempts at english (as we were clearly the only people in the restaurant not speaking russian). the random rolls of meat i ate there were also filled with pomegranate seeds. our dinner before i left was the best of all; we bought some very tiny but strangely delicious donuts from a roadside stand that for some reason only served donuts, and ate them in the hostel along with fresh whole irish milk drunk from cups made from cutting a water bottle in half. delicious, if not nutritious.
as for how much money i spent in dublin, i'm afraid to calculate it. just to give you an idea of the price of necessities: today for lunch i had cheap, fast-food chinese food (think the stuff you get for $5 from manchu wok), and it cost €10. which is basically $14 CDN. now think of me doing similar things every day.
so, there you have it; a very interesting if unexpectedly shared week in dublin. i certainly enjoyed it, even if i'm not yet sure what to make of it. oh, one more thing: irish cities, for some reason, have tim horton's. now *that* is what i call culture shock.
more from russia, when i get me across the border...
i saw przemek a total of 3 times, one of which was when he picked me up at the airport. apparently, his cold came back and prevented him from meeting up to chat or anything. i was disappointed, but at the same time i got some of the closure i needed; i just don't have anything to say to him at this point. it was nice to see him again and maybe we'll meet again someday down the line, but at this point there was just nothing to be said and i just didn't really feel like i could relax and be myself around him.
as for the reason for the title of this post...*cough cough*...the farewell between me and the guy from utah i mentioned last post (chris) became a tad more meaningful than planned. now i know this surprises no one who knows me but is definitely making me seem even more absurd than previously. it was simply the case of having spent every waking minute together for 6 straight days, not for any reason more than that we were just really comfortable together and enjoyed each other's company. we got along a little too well, even. anyway, it was a farely emotional goodbye...i'm not really sure what to say about the whole situation, except, why me? and also, that it was really great to get the chance to know him. he's off to explore the rest of ireland and drink beer in small-town pubs in order to meet tons of local old geezers who will help him develop his irish accent, and i'm on my way to discovering whether managing to travel through eastern europe really requires as much of a sense of humour as i've been warned. hm. this is all still sinking in. why is it that people i meet on trips always seem to feel i'm something special?
as for some of the events of the past few days (and let it be assumed that all of them involved chris as honestly we hung out constantly). my foot finally started feeling better so we started to explore the city pretty extensively. both chris and i are nature fanatics so we walked to quite a few parks. phoenix park was most notable for the endless fields and the random herd of spotted deer wandering around among the tourists. upon arriving at the guinness storehouse to experience the much-touristed tour, a frenchman standing by the gate happened to hand us two free passes to the storehouse, thus saving us €15 each. the tour itself was unremarkable, but worthwhile for the gorgeous view of the city from the pub on the top floor. we both wanted to see the bay and so walked as far east as the road would go (not far; dublin's a pretty tiny city), discovering not the bay (as it was blocked by construction sites), but quaint and interesting residential neighbourhoods featuring tiny houses with tiny doors that looked the perfect size for, well, me. chris had never eaten indian food or been to a nice restaurant, so we did that, and i got to teach him how to order and eat indian food. we discovered a particular bar in the long strip of central bars which is constantly packed with happy, singing people, and spent a ton of time there people-watching. the best person we met there was the drunken irishman named raymond who kept high-fiving us and trying to make the moves on an uninterested young woman from baltimore. he also bought us some irish coffees without a word, just left them on the table in front of us. probably the best part of the trip was the daytrip to a couple towns south of dublin. we took the commuter train about 45 minutes to dun laghoure (i think i'm spelling that wrong but you get the picture), and walked along the coast - finally discovering the sea. two towns south in dalkey, we ate a very modern variety of traditional irish food at a cafe that had both irish bacon and eggs, and statues of buddha in the corners. it was great to get out of the city and be surrounded by green, fresh air and water. we also saw spiderman 3 when it rained again, and it was not as bad as i expected. 2 more interesting meals: we stumbled upon a georgian restaurant with a cheap lunch menu while i was waiting for my laundry to be done, and enjoyed the flustered waitress' attempts at english (as we were clearly the only people in the restaurant not speaking russian). the random rolls of meat i ate there were also filled with pomegranate seeds. our dinner before i left was the best of all; we bought some very tiny but strangely delicious donuts from a roadside stand that for some reason only served donuts, and ate them in the hostel along with fresh whole irish milk drunk from cups made from cutting a water bottle in half. delicious, if not nutritious.
as for how much money i spent in dublin, i'm afraid to calculate it. just to give you an idea of the price of necessities: today for lunch i had cheap, fast-food chinese food (think the stuff you get for $5 from manchu wok), and it cost €10. which is basically $14 CDN. now think of me doing similar things every day.
so, there you have it; a very interesting if unexpectedly shared week in dublin. i certainly enjoyed it, even if i'm not yet sure what to make of it. oh, one more thing: irish cities, for some reason, have tim horton's. now *that* is what i call culture shock.
more from russia, when i get me across the border...
Monday, May 14, 2007
*yawn*
it's not so early on a monday morning, but i am pretty durn tired. in the good way, though, as i got to go out last night and enjoy the sunday-night dublin pub scene. pubs here are different than anything i've ever seen, in the sense that they are full of people of all ages - from as young as 10 or 11 (generally there with their parents), to upwards of 70 or 80. another difference is that there is really no such thing as just going there with your friends; when you get to an irish pub, everyone is your friend. also, they tend to get crowded and rowdy by about 7 or 8pm, most bars close around midnight, and the rowdiest ones are dead by 1:30. everyone will enjoy the fact that i get carded everywhere i go here, despite the fact that the drinking age in ireland is 18; the cheery elderly bartenders always check my passport in detail and then make some grandfatherly comment about how young i look and how could it be that i'm 21? then they often shake my hand. most bars seem to start off with mostly irish music, but as the night wears on the music gets more and more american - to the point where at 1am yesterday an entire packed pub of irish people and poles and tourists were belting out sweet home alabama at the tops of their lungs.
no, i am not getting to see przemek very much. there is a long string of excuses; the second night, his car broke down. then his boss called him in to work on saturday; on saturday evening he drove me out to a really gorgeous suburb called howth just north of dublin, where there are endless trails along a very flowered and cliffy coast; the view is all rocky and grassy islands, and when we were there there were also 3 rainbows at a time. it was quite lovely. but even then he had to be home by 10 to babysit his sister's baby. we were supposed to spend sunday together but he got sick, and apparently still is. i'm disappointed since this is likely the last time i'll see him, but i'm still glad i'm here. as it is, i've been left up to my own devices to not get lonely; on my first lonely night here i met a couple from florida, a south african doing a world tour, a californian from the peace corps and an ex-morman from utah who's touring ireland for 90 days. they walked around with me and we got out to pubs as well. now the south-african and californian have gone, and i mostly hang out with the guy from utah; it's really interesting comparing our cultures and hometowns, and honestly what has been normal in his life is a completely new world to me. my foot is still bothering me so i don't get to see much of the city, but i'm trying to get out exploring one or two things a day. yesterday in the afternoon there was honestly nothing to do, so we went to see the movie 28 weeks later; my GOD that was gruesome. for those of you like me who don't have a tv and so are not at all exposed to pop culture, it's a very graphic apocalyptic zombie movie which is the sequal to 28 days later. MAN that was gruesome.
i'm off to go try to find a birthday present for renata in hungary while it's still gorgeous and sunny out, and while i'm still able to stay awake. the hostel has free internet, so i'll likely post again before i leave for russia early friday morning.
no, i am not getting to see przemek very much. there is a long string of excuses; the second night, his car broke down. then his boss called him in to work on saturday; on saturday evening he drove me out to a really gorgeous suburb called howth just north of dublin, where there are endless trails along a very flowered and cliffy coast; the view is all rocky and grassy islands, and when we were there there were also 3 rainbows at a time. it was quite lovely. but even then he had to be home by 10 to babysit his sister's baby. we were supposed to spend sunday together but he got sick, and apparently still is. i'm disappointed since this is likely the last time i'll see him, but i'm still glad i'm here. as it is, i've been left up to my own devices to not get lonely; on my first lonely night here i met a couple from florida, a south african doing a world tour, a californian from the peace corps and an ex-morman from utah who's touring ireland for 90 days. they walked around with me and we got out to pubs as well. now the south-african and californian have gone, and i mostly hang out with the guy from utah; it's really interesting comparing our cultures and hometowns, and honestly what has been normal in his life is a completely new world to me. my foot is still bothering me so i don't get to see much of the city, but i'm trying to get out exploring one or two things a day. yesterday in the afternoon there was honestly nothing to do, so we went to see the movie 28 weeks later; my GOD that was gruesome. for those of you like me who don't have a tv and so are not at all exposed to pop culture, it's a very graphic apocalyptic zombie movie which is the sequal to 28 days later. MAN that was gruesome.
i'm off to go try to find a birthday present for renata in hungary while it's still gorgeous and sunny out, and while i'm still able to stay awake. the hostel has free internet, so i'll likely post again before i leave for russia early friday morning.
Friday, May 11, 2007
The Ordeal of Leaving Paris
let me preface this post with a disclaimer that i am safely in dublin as of about 12:30 last night, that przemek not only met me at the airport and drove me to my hostel but saw me before i saw him and recognized me from behind despite my very unexpected haircut and very large backpack, and that i got only 3 hours of sleep last night due to 2 hours of sleep i picked up on the plane completely screwing up my sleeping schedule.
let it also be noted that my week in paris was absolutely sparklingly better than i could have imagined, in the sense that there were no bad days and few bad minutes. katya is a spectacular hostess, and we made sure that all mishaps became hilarious within a few minutes. as well, parisian bread makes you temporarily able to see heaven, that's how amazing it is. i swear.
the only - ONLY - completely stressful annoying time in paris was my last afternoon there. laundry in the morning went off without a misshap, and we treated ourselves to the most delectable and gourmandaise-esque breakfast of all time: after whetting our appetites with a freshly-baked brownie from the marche, we ate leftover crepes from the night before, fresh raspberries and clementines, and an assortment of little pieces of fresh baguette with nutella, camambert, butter and honey or butter and fresh jam (made by katya's friend laura). all this as a picnic on katya's terrasse. pictures pending (i.e. i forgot to bring my camera cord to the internet cafe). then i walked katya to the sorbonne, and that's when things started to go wild.
i did not get lost once in paris all week for more than a minute or two - until that moment. now, i wandered the area around the sorbonne each of the 7 days i was in paris - most of those times alone - and never had a problem. for some reason, on the last day, i got myself totally mystifiedly lost, trying to walk to another area of the city i had been to before - the moufetard neighbourhood with the mosquee de paris and the jardin des plantes. i walked in a strange spiral around the sorbonne and pantheon before finally getting back on track, in what had suddenly become fairly blistering heat. i got myself to the mosquee and purchased a few pieces of baklava for przemek (having decided that it sucks to arrive to visit someone empty-handed, even if they don't remember you), got myself a crepe with nutella to make sure i got enough chocolate and sugar for the day, and set off in search of a new scarf.
the story of the scarf is really its own tale. somehow i managed to get a horrible itchy sunburn all over my clavicle and upper chest area on my first day in paris, and it got added to every day - despite the rain and clouds - so i decided to buy a pretty scarf to make up for the fact that ALL my shirts leave that area exposed. i found a gorgeous turquoise, blue and purple one for an only slightly steep price - and it turned my neck and hands bright blue. i washed it extensively. it still turned me bright blue. i washed it one more time, this time incurring the wrath of one of katya's neighbours who terrorized me about using the bathroom sink (more on this later), and it still made me blue - so i needed another scarf.
i managed to find a lovely new colourfast scarf (try figuring out how to ask about that in french) just moments before i had to hurry back to katya's to grab my bags and leave paris. that was when the blisters that had formed on the underside of two of the toes of my left foot 2 days earlier during an overzealous long walk in non-walking shoes decided to become excruciating. the walk home to katya's was really more of a pained limp, during which i had to promise myself with every step that at katya's place - bandaids were waiting. a sterilized pin, and hydrogen peroxide, and bandaids. that was a pretty mentally repetitive 1-hours walk.
when i pulled myself down the final metres to the front door of katya's building, who should be walking out of that door but the banshee old lady neighbour who had shrieked at me the night before for using the bathroom sink to wash my scarf? she recognized me instantly and - get this - walked out of the building, closed the door behind her, and stood in front of it so that i could not get past. she proceeded to begin her tirade all over again. i tried a few complacent and sincere "je sui desolee, madame"s, but when this only seemed to make her more angry (and when my foot just would not stop throbbing), i shot out a very forceful "madame, je suis vraiment desolee, mais j'ai un avion qui depart dans une heure" (ma'am, i'm very sorry, but my plane is leaving in an hour). she gave a loud huff but stepped out of my way. a very nice repairman who got in the elevator with me assured me that that woman was not at all nice and to remember to always keep smiling.
i threw myself the final few metres into katya's room and dissected my bags until i found my first-aid kit. shoes and socks discarded, a very precise and makeshift blister surgery was performed - and i thanked my neurotic self for purchasing matches, peroxide and gauze. after the procedure my toes were a little raw (i'm no surgeon), but i was in considerably less pain and very nicely bandaged. at this point i took a second to look at my watch and scream because i was already 5 minutes late to meet katya in the foyer and give her her keys back so she could go to work. what followed was me working in 60 directions at once to re-pack, replace my socks and shoes, and tidy up. i met her downstairs panting and 10 minutes late, but she kindly walked me to the metro anyway and helped me buy my commuter train ticket to the airport. a few cheek kisses later, and we were both gone. i successfully took the metro to the commuter train, and then successfully got on the wrong commuter train - which i only realized in time to switch trains in a very sketchy part of the city where honestly i was one of maybe 3 females and 2 white people on a very crowded platform. thankfully, i got on the right train with all my belongings and no inch of me harmed or threatened.
at the airport, i limped to the right terminal to learn that my flight was delayed 45 minutes. okay, not such a big deal. i bought some food and drink and sat on a bench. in front of me were a police officer and two army personnel, in full gear and with submachine guns in their hands, patrolling the convenience store. it took me a few minutes to figure out that they were trying to figure out which box of chocolates to buy - in the most official way possible. two of them would stand guard while the third scanned the chocolates, and they communicated about which was the good choice with an intricate series of sharp head-nods. after finally settling on a box of white-chocolate Guylian shell-shaped chocolates, they marched in formation over to the cash to pay.
after an hour or two of that one boring part of the airport, i decided to head through passport control to my gate. upon discovering it, i doscovered that my flight was no longer only 45 minutes delayed - it was 2 hours delayed. dude, it's a 2-hour flight! anyway. 2 AND A HALF hours later we boarded and the pilot managed to get us there in record time: 1 and a half hours. after dublin's customs (nearly as lax as france's), i actually successfully met przemek and he drove me to my hostel. where they told me that i hadn't paid yet, when they had definitely already charged €176 to my visa. after a hurried phone call home to check the visa statement and the disgruntled receptionist fiddling around with the computer, they finally believed me.
i have only 2 minutes left on internet, so i'll end here. if you think this story is long, you should see the version i wrote out in my journal while waiting for the plane - 12 pages long. this is only the abridged version.
hostel = great, still limping but fine, will post again soon.
bisous/kisses
let it also be noted that my week in paris was absolutely sparklingly better than i could have imagined, in the sense that there were no bad days and few bad minutes. katya is a spectacular hostess, and we made sure that all mishaps became hilarious within a few minutes. as well, parisian bread makes you temporarily able to see heaven, that's how amazing it is. i swear.
the only - ONLY - completely stressful annoying time in paris was my last afternoon there. laundry in the morning went off without a misshap, and we treated ourselves to the most delectable and gourmandaise-esque breakfast of all time: after whetting our appetites with a freshly-baked brownie from the marche, we ate leftover crepes from the night before, fresh raspberries and clementines, and an assortment of little pieces of fresh baguette with nutella, camambert, butter and honey or butter and fresh jam (made by katya's friend laura). all this as a picnic on katya's terrasse. pictures pending (i.e. i forgot to bring my camera cord to the internet cafe). then i walked katya to the sorbonne, and that's when things started to go wild.
i did not get lost once in paris all week for more than a minute or two - until that moment. now, i wandered the area around the sorbonne each of the 7 days i was in paris - most of those times alone - and never had a problem. for some reason, on the last day, i got myself totally mystifiedly lost, trying to walk to another area of the city i had been to before - the moufetard neighbourhood with the mosquee de paris and the jardin des plantes. i walked in a strange spiral around the sorbonne and pantheon before finally getting back on track, in what had suddenly become fairly blistering heat. i got myself to the mosquee and purchased a few pieces of baklava for przemek (having decided that it sucks to arrive to visit someone empty-handed, even if they don't remember you), got myself a crepe with nutella to make sure i got enough chocolate and sugar for the day, and set off in search of a new scarf.
the story of the scarf is really its own tale. somehow i managed to get a horrible itchy sunburn all over my clavicle and upper chest area on my first day in paris, and it got added to every day - despite the rain and clouds - so i decided to buy a pretty scarf to make up for the fact that ALL my shirts leave that area exposed. i found a gorgeous turquoise, blue and purple one for an only slightly steep price - and it turned my neck and hands bright blue. i washed it extensively. it still turned me bright blue. i washed it one more time, this time incurring the wrath of one of katya's neighbours who terrorized me about using the bathroom sink (more on this later), and it still made me blue - so i needed another scarf.
i managed to find a lovely new colourfast scarf (try figuring out how to ask about that in french) just moments before i had to hurry back to katya's to grab my bags and leave paris. that was when the blisters that had formed on the underside of two of the toes of my left foot 2 days earlier during an overzealous long walk in non-walking shoes decided to become excruciating. the walk home to katya's was really more of a pained limp, during which i had to promise myself with every step that at katya's place - bandaids were waiting. a sterilized pin, and hydrogen peroxide, and bandaids. that was a pretty mentally repetitive 1-hours walk.
when i pulled myself down the final metres to the front door of katya's building, who should be walking out of that door but the banshee old lady neighbour who had shrieked at me the night before for using the bathroom sink to wash my scarf? she recognized me instantly and - get this - walked out of the building, closed the door behind her, and stood in front of it so that i could not get past. she proceeded to begin her tirade all over again. i tried a few complacent and sincere "je sui desolee, madame"s, but when this only seemed to make her more angry (and when my foot just would not stop throbbing), i shot out a very forceful "madame, je suis vraiment desolee, mais j'ai un avion qui depart dans une heure" (ma'am, i'm very sorry, but my plane is leaving in an hour). she gave a loud huff but stepped out of my way. a very nice repairman who got in the elevator with me assured me that that woman was not at all nice and to remember to always keep smiling.
i threw myself the final few metres into katya's room and dissected my bags until i found my first-aid kit. shoes and socks discarded, a very precise and makeshift blister surgery was performed - and i thanked my neurotic self for purchasing matches, peroxide and gauze. after the procedure my toes were a little raw (i'm no surgeon), but i was in considerably less pain and very nicely bandaged. at this point i took a second to look at my watch and scream because i was already 5 minutes late to meet katya in the foyer and give her her keys back so she could go to work. what followed was me working in 60 directions at once to re-pack, replace my socks and shoes, and tidy up. i met her downstairs panting and 10 minutes late, but she kindly walked me to the metro anyway and helped me buy my commuter train ticket to the airport. a few cheek kisses later, and we were both gone. i successfully took the metro to the commuter train, and then successfully got on the wrong commuter train - which i only realized in time to switch trains in a very sketchy part of the city where honestly i was one of maybe 3 females and 2 white people on a very crowded platform. thankfully, i got on the right train with all my belongings and no inch of me harmed or threatened.
at the airport, i limped to the right terminal to learn that my flight was delayed 45 minutes. okay, not such a big deal. i bought some food and drink and sat on a bench. in front of me were a police officer and two army personnel, in full gear and with submachine guns in their hands, patrolling the convenience store. it took me a few minutes to figure out that they were trying to figure out which box of chocolates to buy - in the most official way possible. two of them would stand guard while the third scanned the chocolates, and they communicated about which was the good choice with an intricate series of sharp head-nods. after finally settling on a box of white-chocolate Guylian shell-shaped chocolates, they marched in formation over to the cash to pay.
after an hour or two of that one boring part of the airport, i decided to head through passport control to my gate. upon discovering it, i doscovered that my flight was no longer only 45 minutes delayed - it was 2 hours delayed. dude, it's a 2-hour flight! anyway. 2 AND A HALF hours later we boarded and the pilot managed to get us there in record time: 1 and a half hours. after dublin's customs (nearly as lax as france's), i actually successfully met przemek and he drove me to my hostel. where they told me that i hadn't paid yet, when they had definitely already charged €176 to my visa. after a hurried phone call home to check the visa statement and the disgruntled receptionist fiddling around with the computer, they finally believed me.
i have only 2 minutes left on internet, so i'll end here. if you think this story is long, you should see the version i wrote out in my journal while waiting for the plane - 12 pages long. this is only the abridged version.
hostel = great, still limping but fine, will post again soon.
bisous/kisses
Monday, May 7, 2007
my feet are jello
this posting promises to be a super-long one; i have a few hours to kill on the internet, and honestly there's a lot that could be said. as with the previous post, i'm writing from a tiny, nearly inaccessible computer lab in the sorbonne which katya had to log me into before running off to the class i made her super-late for. despite some fairly explosive spring allergies that seem to be completely unresponsive to antihistamines, i continue to have an amazing time. we've been walking a solid god-knows-how-many hours per day, so my feet gleefully ache away while my thighs and abs turn rock hard. i'll try to keep this post to the most pertinent of anecdotes, while still not making it just a list.
amazing foods i've tried since being in paris:
- pain au chocolat
- street-vendor crepes (you all know i can't resist)
- an entire kg of fresh strawberries
- really, really good fresh eggs
- fresh raw fennel
- numerous varieties of amazingly fresh baklava
- baguette better than i could ever have imagined
- vietnamese porc au caramel
- some of the most flavourful falafel i've ever had (ha; 'flavourful falafel')
- tons of fresh black grapes and dates
- raspberry tart
- croissant au monde (croissant filled with almond slices, almond paste and dusted with icing sugar)
Galleries I've seen so far:
- Petit Palais
- Musée Rodin
- Musée Picasso
- the art vendors surrounding Place à vosges
Notable aspects of Paris and Parisians:
- the cars are *tiny*. It's really refreshing.
- don't hug unless it's just before or after sex. Offer 2 cheek kisses between women or between women and men; a handshake between men. This goes for kids and teens as well.
- emphasis is added two speech by making use of any of a wide variety of very particular mini-exhalations. These should be inserted in places where anglophones would normally say 'hm', 'um', 'i don't know', 'can you believe that?', 'i sympathize', 'i'm tired', 'shit! fuck!', etc.
Let's see...where to start with the anecdotes?
Katya took me to the Mosquée du Patris, a gorgeous long white mosque with pale green shingles and dark brown trim. There we lounged in their cloistered café, inside the ornately guilded and tiled main room but looking out through large open doors on the wide patio and the many 'branché' French people enjoying it. We drank sweetened mint tea and ate baklava and, as is appropriate to a Parisian café setting, discussed all things profound and deep - while making fun of the locals.
Katya earns her keep in her tiny studio apartment by babysitting for/offering her indentured servitude to the well-to-do lawyer couple living downstairs. This couple gave birth two gorgeous, completely unmanageable little boys, who Katya takes to the park every evening after school. On my second night in Paris, I met Katya in front of her building as she was dragging the kids back from the park. It had just started to rain. She looked completely pissed off. The kids refused to enter the building for a few minutes and when we got them in, the older one disappeared into the staircase. I took the elevator with the little one while Katya chased after the elder. When we all finally re-met in front of the kids' apartment, Katya said to me, 'I have a poisonous snake in my bag.' She proceeded to open her bag to reveal a viper in a glass jar. Apparently the kids' father, a real 'adventurer', had caught the snake with the kids in Nantes and had thought it would be great for the kids to bring to school for show-and-tell. Today Katya showed up at the school and the teacher told her it was time to take the snake home. So Katya was forced to carry a poisonous snake in a jar to a playground swarming with children while taking care of two misbehaving toddlers.
That evening, Katya took me to one of the places where she regularly eats dinner: a tiny, dark but warm-atmosphered Vietnamese pub filled with French students. We ordered cheap and filling large portions of warm food. In the bathroom, the radio begins to blast as soon as you turn on the light. The walls are lined with an eclectic collection of old books which may be borrowed at any time; the tiny wall TV plays karaoke and concerts from the 70's. The owner, a little Vietnamese man who cooks all the food in a closet-sized kitchen in the back, believes that sleep is not necessary if you spend your time doing good things for people (as both should give you the same energy), and so apparently never sleeps.
I bought a wheel of camambert for *2€*.
I had the pleasure of meeting Katya's Parisian friend, Laura, who said I'm the first real Canadian she's ever met. She walked both of us around for a couple hours, leading us to some gorgeous flower-filled gardens and through some of the trendiest streets.
I went twice, on two separate days, to Place des vosges - a park in the trendy Jewish/gay Marais neighbourhood. The first time, an entire string group of at least 10 serenaded us with Pachelbell's Canon; on the second, I got to stand and listen to a lone cellist accompanying a soprano to O Mio Babbino Caro and Ave Maria. Her voice was so pure and resonant that I was literally nearly in tears.
This may be my favourite anecdote so far. Yesterday morning, in the garden of the Musée Rodin, I called Przemek to make sure he'd still be able to meet me at the Dublin airport on Thursday. For those of you who don't know (which is probably few to none), Przemek was my Polish boyfriend who I met my first summer working in the camp kitchen, who was serious enough about me that we continued to date long-distance (Montréal to Poland and then Montréal to England when he moved) until the following December. We've corresponded periodically since and are on good terms, and we've been planning that I would come visit him in Dublin since at least February. Plus I told him the last time we talked (2 weeks ago?) that I would call him from Paris. So, I call him and he answers the phone. I say,
"Hello, is this Przemek?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"Hi, this is Sarah."
"Who?" (how many young women with North-American accents does he keep in touch with, anyway?)
"It's Sarah."
*long pause*
"Do you know who I am?"
"No..."
"It's Sarah Horowitz?"
*long pause*
"Oooooooh, yeah! Sorry!"
Ha. How soon we forget. I laughed SO HARD. He says he'll definitely meet me at the airport, but I'm still skeptical because he said "I'll see you in 2 days" when really, Thursday was at that point 4 days away.
Soooo that marks the end of this post. It feels like I'm writing an entire novel here, but I hope it's readable and interesting. I'm not sure if I'll post again before Dublin, and then I can let everyone know whether Przemek has completely lost his memory.
amazing foods i've tried since being in paris:
- pain au chocolat
- street-vendor crepes (you all know i can't resist)
- an entire kg of fresh strawberries
- really, really good fresh eggs
- fresh raw fennel
- numerous varieties of amazingly fresh baklava
- baguette better than i could ever have imagined
- vietnamese porc au caramel
- some of the most flavourful falafel i've ever had (ha; 'flavourful falafel')
- tons of fresh black grapes and dates
- raspberry tart
- croissant au monde (croissant filled with almond slices, almond paste and dusted with icing sugar)
Galleries I've seen so far:
- Petit Palais
- Musée Rodin
- Musée Picasso
- the art vendors surrounding Place à vosges
Notable aspects of Paris and Parisians:
- the cars are *tiny*. It's really refreshing.
- don't hug unless it's just before or after sex. Offer 2 cheek kisses between women or between women and men; a handshake between men. This goes for kids and teens as well.
- emphasis is added two speech by making use of any of a wide variety of very particular mini-exhalations. These should be inserted in places where anglophones would normally say 'hm', 'um', 'i don't know', 'can you believe that?', 'i sympathize', 'i'm tired', 'shit! fuck!', etc.
Let's see...where to start with the anecdotes?
Katya took me to the Mosquée du Patris, a gorgeous long white mosque with pale green shingles and dark brown trim. There we lounged in their cloistered café, inside the ornately guilded and tiled main room but looking out through large open doors on the wide patio and the many 'branché' French people enjoying it. We drank sweetened mint tea and ate baklava and, as is appropriate to a Parisian café setting, discussed all things profound and deep - while making fun of the locals.
Katya earns her keep in her tiny studio apartment by babysitting for/offering her indentured servitude to the well-to-do lawyer couple living downstairs. This couple gave birth two gorgeous, completely unmanageable little boys, who Katya takes to the park every evening after school. On my second night in Paris, I met Katya in front of her building as she was dragging the kids back from the park. It had just started to rain. She looked completely pissed off. The kids refused to enter the building for a few minutes and when we got them in, the older one disappeared into the staircase. I took the elevator with the little one while Katya chased after the elder. When we all finally re-met in front of the kids' apartment, Katya said to me, 'I have a poisonous snake in my bag.' She proceeded to open her bag to reveal a viper in a glass jar. Apparently the kids' father, a real 'adventurer', had caught the snake with the kids in Nantes and had thought it would be great for the kids to bring to school for show-and-tell. Today Katya showed up at the school and the teacher told her it was time to take the snake home. So Katya was forced to carry a poisonous snake in a jar to a playground swarming with children while taking care of two misbehaving toddlers.
That evening, Katya took me to one of the places where she regularly eats dinner: a tiny, dark but warm-atmosphered Vietnamese pub filled with French students. We ordered cheap and filling large portions of warm food. In the bathroom, the radio begins to blast as soon as you turn on the light. The walls are lined with an eclectic collection of old books which may be borrowed at any time; the tiny wall TV plays karaoke and concerts from the 70's. The owner, a little Vietnamese man who cooks all the food in a closet-sized kitchen in the back, believes that sleep is not necessary if you spend your time doing good things for people (as both should give you the same energy), and so apparently never sleeps.
I bought a wheel of camambert for *2€*.
I had the pleasure of meeting Katya's Parisian friend, Laura, who said I'm the first real Canadian she's ever met. She walked both of us around for a couple hours, leading us to some gorgeous flower-filled gardens and through some of the trendiest streets.
I went twice, on two separate days, to Place des vosges - a park in the trendy Jewish/gay Marais neighbourhood. The first time, an entire string group of at least 10 serenaded us with Pachelbell's Canon; on the second, I got to stand and listen to a lone cellist accompanying a soprano to O Mio Babbino Caro and Ave Maria. Her voice was so pure and resonant that I was literally nearly in tears.
This may be my favourite anecdote so far. Yesterday morning, in the garden of the Musée Rodin, I called Przemek to make sure he'd still be able to meet me at the Dublin airport on Thursday. For those of you who don't know (which is probably few to none), Przemek was my Polish boyfriend who I met my first summer working in the camp kitchen, who was serious enough about me that we continued to date long-distance (Montréal to Poland and then Montréal to England when he moved) until the following December. We've corresponded periodically since and are on good terms, and we've been planning that I would come visit him in Dublin since at least February. Plus I told him the last time we talked (2 weeks ago?) that I would call him from Paris. So, I call him and he answers the phone. I say,
"Hello, is this Przemek?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"Hi, this is Sarah."
"Who?" (how many young women with North-American accents does he keep in touch with, anyway?)
"It's Sarah."
*long pause*
"Do you know who I am?"
"No..."
"It's Sarah Horowitz?"
*long pause*
"Oooooooh, yeah! Sorry!"
Ha. How soon we forget. I laughed SO HARD. He says he'll definitely meet me at the airport, but I'm still skeptical because he said "I'll see you in 2 days" when really, Thursday was at that point 4 days away.
Soooo that marks the end of this post. It feels like I'm writing an entire novel here, but I hope it's readable and interesting. I'm not sure if I'll post again before Dublin, and then I can let everyone know whether Przemek has completely lost his memory.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
feeling canadian
i am writing this post...from...paris. mon dieu. it's a french keyboard, so try to ignore my spelling. add to the french keyboard the fact that i currently have not slept in 30 hours; i am riding on a high of coffee, and more importantly, the high of having a joyous smiling katya to talk to after a year without her at mcgill - and the high of wandering endless winding ornate paris streets. i guess i must be pretty high, n'est-ce pas?
the flight over seemed surprisingly short. air france's food rivalled swiss air's food in quantity, tastiness and variety. i swear this airplane food is better than most restaurant food. the real pièce de resistance in this case was the appetizer: saffron couscous on romaine lettuce with curried beans and fresh salmon. and yes, that was the appetizer.
everything has been pretty surreal so far; i'm not even sure how to capture it. i was mentioning to katya as we were walking by the gargantuan sand-coloured sorbonne building that i'm so not aware of what's going on yet that my blog will be filled with sentences like 'it's strange.' 'everything is pretty.' and 'paris is interesting.'
the best part of the flight was the full moon over the clouds. i got to watch it travel all across the sky, then turn red and slowly descend - just as we were descending over paris. the sunrise literally began as our wheels hit the runway, and the sun became red on the horizon just as i walked into the airport.
i was just as impressed with french customs on this flight as i was when my mother and i flew to nice last year; i.e. everyone just walked out of the airport past the customs officials. no one asked me why i was there and when (or if) i was leaving, no one even checked to see if i had a passport. almost made up for the 45 minute wait to pick up my bags.
i feel very, very canadian. i'm polite, i apologize for everything, i'm stocky and built for peasant life and i don't know how to properly wear eyeliner. at the same time, i was also struck by how happy i feel to be canadian. travelling into paris from the airport i was struck by just how dense and involved a city it is. it feels as though everyone just carves out tiny individual pockets always moulding little niches into the endlessly diverse landscape of the city; the people and buildings are just endless. to a small-town toronto girl like myself, it's easy to imagine getting lost in living in paris, never knowing how your niche fits into the others, never feeling confident that you would cross paths with your best friend ever again if one of you happened to move or get a different job or something. that being said, it's also very pretty. and that being said, i've only been here for 7 hours.
not to keep rambling forever, i'll end thus: i look very forward to a week of wandering, and of basking in katya's sunny personality and artfully deocrated little parisian room. by the end of the week we will be much closer i'm sure, if only because her shower is in her room across from the bed and has a glass door. whatever comes after this week...still feels too big and surreal to even bring it to the level of unreality that i feel right now. with my dutifully awkward blogging, i'll try to document it as it unfolds.
by the way, thank you joanna for totally making my trip with your letter.
kisses to everyone, one per cheek. enjoy spring.
the flight over seemed surprisingly short. air france's food rivalled swiss air's food in quantity, tastiness and variety. i swear this airplane food is better than most restaurant food. the real pièce de resistance in this case was the appetizer: saffron couscous on romaine lettuce with curried beans and fresh salmon. and yes, that was the appetizer.
everything has been pretty surreal so far; i'm not even sure how to capture it. i was mentioning to katya as we were walking by the gargantuan sand-coloured sorbonne building that i'm so not aware of what's going on yet that my blog will be filled with sentences like 'it's strange.' 'everything is pretty.' and 'paris is interesting.'
the best part of the flight was the full moon over the clouds. i got to watch it travel all across the sky, then turn red and slowly descend - just as we were descending over paris. the sunrise literally began as our wheels hit the runway, and the sun became red on the horizon just as i walked into the airport.
i was just as impressed with french customs on this flight as i was when my mother and i flew to nice last year; i.e. everyone just walked out of the airport past the customs officials. no one asked me why i was there and when (or if) i was leaving, no one even checked to see if i had a passport. almost made up for the 45 minute wait to pick up my bags.
i feel very, very canadian. i'm polite, i apologize for everything, i'm stocky and built for peasant life and i don't know how to properly wear eyeliner. at the same time, i was also struck by how happy i feel to be canadian. travelling into paris from the airport i was struck by just how dense and involved a city it is. it feels as though everyone just carves out tiny individual pockets always moulding little niches into the endlessly diverse landscape of the city; the people and buildings are just endless. to a small-town toronto girl like myself, it's easy to imagine getting lost in living in paris, never knowing how your niche fits into the others, never feeling confident that you would cross paths with your best friend ever again if one of you happened to move or get a different job or something. that being said, it's also very pretty. and that being said, i've only been here for 7 hours.
not to keep rambling forever, i'll end thus: i look very forward to a week of wandering, and of basking in katya's sunny personality and artfully deocrated little parisian room. by the end of the week we will be much closer i'm sure, if only because her shower is in her room across from the bed and has a glass door. whatever comes after this week...still feels too big and surreal to even bring it to the level of unreality that i feel right now. with my dutifully awkward blogging, i'll try to document it as it unfolds.
by the way, thank you joanna for totally making my trip with your letter.
kisses to everyone, one per cheek. enjoy spring.
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