I'm now totally convinced that Luc Besson's "Taxi" was created from his personal experience of the cab drivers in France, or at least the Paris region.
Had to take a cab from the airport back home on Monday night, and that's an experience I really would not care to repeat. But I guess it was really just the icing on top of what had been a great day that soured pretty rapidly after we decided to call it a day and set off for home.
That was a really bad night for trains. There was a problem with the train track leading towards Cergy, and it was still not repaired even after two hours of wait, from 8.15 pm to 10.30 pm, so we decided to take the train to the airport - and of course, with our luck, there was yet one more problem with the train track leading to the airport, so we had to disembark halfway and switch to the bus specially chartered for the occasion. But hey, at least we managed to get there!
Figured if we were stuck there for the night, it'd at least be warmer (and safer) than if we had spent the night on a street bench in one of Paris' parks, or sleeping in the doorway of one of the numerous train stations that dot Paris.
Anyway, we arrived at 11-odd, and our bad luck held. The last bus had come and gone half an hour earlier. I had wanted to spend the night at the airport, but Luq was nice enough to suggest putting us up for the night in a hotel there, or taking a cab back, because I had a presentation at 9am the next day (of course, all the materials were locked in my room, so I couldn't even go straight to school), followed by two exams the day after.
We opted for the latter, and that ranks either at the top (or close to) of my 'bad decisions' list. Firstly, it was the most expensive cab ride I've ever taken - at 76 euros for a half-hour journey, it cost more than twice what we're paying for accommodations per night! Secondly, the cab driver had been smoking prior to picking us up, so the distinctly redolent pungency of tabacco fumes pervaded the interior.
And to add to my steadily building headache, the cabby must have been a frustrated race car driver. Yeah, I know it's a hackneyed description we usually give of cab drivers, but this guy drove at an average breakneck speed of 160 km/h - on roads with NOT A SINGLE STREET LAMP in sight. Serious! All we had were his headlights (and those of other cars) to light our way, and that was really inadequate, I felt. I had an eye on the speedometer and a death grip on Luq's hand all through the entire journey, and the faster he sped (on quite a few instances, we touched 180 km/h), the tighter my hold. He wasn't sure of the way, I think, so he called a colleague with one hand pressed to the phone on his ear while negotiating the bends at slightly over 100 km/h several times. He slowed down - to 90 clicks - in the areas with a speed limit of 70 km/h, and once past these zones, shot up to even higher speeds as though to make up for lost time.
Each time we crept up on and sped past a more sensible, sedate driver, I kept a litany of "Please let us get home safely" in my head, and couldn't help reviewing the terms and conditions under which I could collect insurance compensation in the event of an accident. *Sigh* Can honestly say I was on the edge of my seat all throughout, staring at the speedometer with the fascination a snake has for a mouse. Couldn't take my eyes off it, as he kept to this more-or-less constant speed regardless of the drizzle, lack of visibility, other drivers and even the big signboards along the expressway that warned of deer crossing.
Viewed our destination with disbelief. Just couldn't believe we had made it through safely, but being on terra firma again was a huge relief.
NB. And of course, my big presentation was postponed by my lecturer on the very day I was supposed to do it!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
The Empire of the Dead
Venturing into the Catacombs was both educational and slightly depressing, to be frank. Right before that, we had gone past a bustling market street selling all sorts of fresh produce - full of life and bright faces - and emerging into the solemnity of the Catacombs was a sobering experience.
The tour itself didn't take long - about an hour, but felt longer than that. The first part entailed a climb down yet another spiral staircase into the bowels of the earth - 20 metres, to be exact, after which we emerged into a series of chambers with pictures and posters retailing the history of the place.
Next, we wandered into a network of twisting tunnels which echo the layout of the streets above. At times, the ceiling was so low that Luq could touch it with little effort, and even had to bend his head at times, although I had no difficulty traversing the place (a plus for short people, I guess).
Very annoyingly, some of the kids who were in the tunnels at the same time kept up a series of hoots and low cries, making a mockery of the solemnity that pervaded the catacombs. Not surprisingly, we lingered behind to let them get ahead as far as we possibly could.
This was aided by the physical layout of the tunnels, which did not allow two people to walk abreast comfortably. The miners who had carved out the tunnels for their limestone and gypsum had left rough-hewn blocks and columns behind, and as we were walking in their footsteps, I could not help marvelling at the courage of these ancient miners who braved such a dank, claustrophobic space in search of the earth's minerals. The air was pretty musty, with an earthy dustiness to it that choked the nostrils. This got better as we became more used to it.
There were some interesting bas-reliefs on the wall along the way, which helped to relieve the feeling of oppression derived from the history as well as location so far beneath the earth's crust. Have to say, coming face to face with what appeared to be a tombstone halfway through one's journey was more than a little spooky.
It was the "Empire of the Dead" that drove the funereal grimness home, for me, at least. These two giggly girls in front of me even posed in the doorway that led to the final resting place of so many of Paris' ancient dead. Decidedly tacky, tasteless, and I hope they had nightmares.
In this area, bones were piled as high as they could possible go. Some columns were taller than me, and reached all the way to the ceiling, while others were waist-high, due to the structure of the cavern. Skulls, rank upon rank of them, studded the colonnades, while arm and leg bones held them up in a grisly arrangement. Pleasing the 'decor' certainly wasn't, but there was a sort of macabre sense to it.
To add to the ghoulishness of the place, water droplets seeped from the ceiling above, falling onto the pebbled ground with a plop that sounded exactly as though someone nearby had displaced a few stones with his foot. I couldn't help looking around for that non-existent person, and even after finding out the cause of the noise, couldn't shake the feeling of being furtively observed. Guess I've read way too many horror novels for my own good. Have to say, though, that I watched my step really carefully - the last thing I wanted was to stumble and accidentally hold onto one of these relic bones for support!
It took two years to empty the cemeteries of Paris and fill this section of the catacombs - not to arrange it into neat stacks, but simply to throw the bones in haphazardly, so one can imagine just how many people it took to supply the designer of the "Empire of the Dead" with his gruesome tools.
*Sigh* Indeed, "To what base uses we may return"!
Reaching the last of the tunnels was a relief, even though it meant having to climb a similar staircase up again. O my poor weary feet!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Stairway to fatigue and a fantastic view
Visited the Basilique du Sacre Coeur (Sacred Heart Basilica) today. Had initially felt a little dubious about visiting a church (the last time was over a decade ago when my dad was baptised), but boy, was it worth it.
Two tips, though, for the unwary. Wear hiking shoes, and never, ever stop for the numerous black guys thronging the base of the hill. And warn your little kids too, if you happen to bring them! Luq was cornered when I went to the restroom, and by the time I came out, this black guy was happily tying a friendship band around his wrist. Silly me tried to find out what was going on, and another black guy seized the opportunity to tie another band around my wrist. Total cost? 20 euro for two bands that I could probably have made myself.
O well. After running this gauntlet, it was time to scale the hill. Luq had thumbed his nose at the tourists who opted to be carried to the top via tram, so we hoofed it to the top. Am I out of shape. I was gasping for breath before we were three-quarters of the way up =(
Two tips, though, for the unwary. Wear hiking shoes, and never, ever stop for the numerous black guys thronging the base of the hill. And warn your little kids too, if you happen to bring them! Luq was cornered when I went to the restroom, and by the time I came out, this black guy was happily tying a friendship band around his wrist. Silly me tried to find out what was going on, and another black guy seized the opportunity to tie another band around my wrist. Total cost? 20 euro for two bands that I could probably have made myself.
O well. After running this gauntlet, it was time to scale the hill. Luq had thumbed his nose at the tourists who opted to be carried to the top via tram, so we hoofed it to the top. Am I out of shape. I was gasping for breath before we were three-quarters of the way up =(
Got there finally, and what a view! The entire city was stretched out from one horizon to the other, crisply clear and breathtakingly gorgeous. Not surprisingly, there were lots of tourists snapping away, at the skyline and each other, smiling and posing for their loved ones. Me, I was more interested in shooting the panorama, but I did get a really good shot of Luq. *pats myself on the back*
There was also a guy performing with a football - juggling, kicking, etc - on an impromptu stage near the church. He was pretty good, judging from the audience reception. I didn't really take a lot of notice of him, but I did feel he had a good eye for location. From the other side of where I was (which was mostly where the fans were grouped), he was skylined against the city, and probably made for a lot of great shots.
The church itself was quite nice. Built in the Romano-Byzantine style, it contrasts strikingly with the heavier gothic architecture of other churches such as the Notre Dame de Paris. Its first stone was actually laid in 1875, and was completed by 1914, but it could not be consecrated due to the break-out of World World One. Thus, it was only consecrated in 1919, after the end of the war.
Very hushed, with wonderful stained glass motifs and lots of candles inside. High heels are definitely not encouraged! I kept to the carpeted areas where I could, and tiptoed where I couldn't.
The must-visit places, though, are the dome and crypt. We only had time for one, so opted for the dome. There was no escalator, so we had to climb all 300 steps (no, I didn't count them, there was a sign warning us of the number of steps involved) to the top. The spiral stairway is not recommended for the faint of heart or claustrophobic. The individual steps were pretty small, and if anyone misses a step... well, it's a long, rounded way to the bottom, and breaking one's neck on a church at the summit of the "mount of the martyrs" will probably be the fast-track to heaven, regardless of religion, since this was also the site of Druidic and Roman temples.
Anyway, 300 steps later, a fantastic view awaits. This is the highest point in the city (save for the Eiffel Tower) and it offered birds' eye views of the city with literally every step. My verdict? Worth the climb, and I'm as far away from being a health nut as anyone can get. Truly wonderful, and I wouldn't mind going there again - only this time, I'm lugging a tripod up as well. Oh, and leaving the high-heeled boots behind.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
What a day!
This was probably one of the worst days I've had in Paris. Woke up bright and early at seven, only to find Luq still asleep, and extremely unwilling to shake off his slumber. So, it was two-plus when we finally set off for the Catacombs.
After an hour-long journey, we got off at Denfert Rochereau - only to find the catacombs closed for the holiday. We weren't the only ones to find the door shut in our faces - as we were aimlessly looking at the map wondering what else to do that day, a steady stream of visitors kept walking up, faces falling after reading the notice taped to the entrance.
It was still early, so we decided to go to the Eiffel Tower after some hot lunch. Luq suggested that we walk towards the Notre Dame, where we had bought some halal chicken sandwiches a few weeks ago, so we proceeded to do that. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the cold had set Mr Pathfinder's compass the wrong way, for he led us in the opposite direction to where we were supposed to go. It wasn't too bad, though, cos we saw an interesting area of Paris that we had never been to, and even bought him a turtleneck along the way.
It was getting late by the time we realised we were all turned around, so we took the train back to Denfert Rochereau, intending to switch trains there and travel onwards to Bir Hakim. While waiting to purchase our tickets, this guy asked if we had change for one euro (I distinctly heard 'exchange' as he showed us one-euro coin) and then plucked a one-euro coin (the largest coin I had, by the way) right out of my palm as I was counting my change! After which he asked if it were alright if he took it. What the hell!!! I got pretty indignant, and wanted to demand my coin back, but gave up.
After this, the first leg proceeded smoothly, but at the very first stop after Denfert, our journey came abruptly to a halt. Apparently, the train wasn't continuing on, and as this French conductor informed us, and we had to backtrack and take a more roundabout route towards St Michel Notre Dame before switching trains yet again. *Sigh* I couldn't catch what she muttered about the reason for the train stoppage, but I suppose it has to do with the strike of the train workers that's going on around now.
Got pretty excited when I heard about it a few days ago, as I wanted to watch a strike in action, but Luq refused to let me go =( Said he didn't want to see me sipping coffee in a cafe watching demonstrators standing up for rights and making fun of them inwardly. Am I really so mean?
Anyway, that was when Mr Pathfinder failed us again. We had to take the train bound for Versailles Rive Gauche (coincidentally also the stop for Chateau de Versailles, which we've been planning to go to for quite a while), but when we got to a T-junction, we almost went in the opposite direction to Saint Martin d'Etamps.
Still, we managed to get there alright, but the queue was really really really long! If this is what the crowd is like in the "off-peak" season, I shudder to see the throngs during the peak tourist period.
Feeling really really hungry by now, so we bought two crepes at a crepe stand opposite the tower. As befitted its status as a tourist trap, the crepes were exorbitant and skimped on the ingredients, with their sole redeeming feature their heat. The warmth was really welcome to my frozen fingers - which were feeling the weather even through my gloves!
Luq had commented just this morning that showers in this part of France were "wimpy" - but as though in response, we were caught in a very sudden. very heavy downpour almost immediately after we finished our crepes.
I was soaked in just a few minutes, and so were my poor feet, as my boots were not waterproof. Luq, however, was still fairly dry. Argh!!! At this moment, the brasserie at the junction opposite seemed a veritable beacon of warm cosiness, but we had to take a roundabout to reach it, there being no direct crossing. Brrrr.
Got in out of the cold at long last, and I headed straight for a corner seat which would have given us a good view of the rain outside. The garcon, though, refused to seat us there, and gave us a table on the inside. *Sigh* All I wanted was a place out of the rain, so I didn't raise a fuss.
We ordered a dozen escargots and an onion soup for Luq. The soup was pretty good - seriously, though I hate onions, but the escargots tasted pretty flat. The ones we had in KL were way better. As Luq put it, "I've tasted better sea snails."
Walking leisurely over one of the Seine bridges after dinner, we were accosted by this swarthy-looking guy who kept shoving a rose at me. Think the cold had dulled my wits, cos I thought he was giving them out as he had closed for the day and just wanted to get rid of his stock. I refused to take it a few times, but he just kept getting more insistent. Then, when I finally took it (and thanked him for it too!) he turned right around and asked Luq for three euro! That was tacky, man.
Moving on, we decided to take some shots of the Eiffel Tower from across the river. This time, as we were setting up our shots, a man crossed the road, and offered to take photos of the two of us. It was really cold, and dark besides, so it would have been really hard to take a good picture, so I refused. But he kept insisting, and even exclaimed loudly that it was free. Strange. Given our luck today, he'd probably have run away with the camera!
After an hour-long journey, we got off at Denfert Rochereau - only to find the catacombs closed for the holiday. We weren't the only ones to find the door shut in our faces - as we were aimlessly looking at the map wondering what else to do that day, a steady stream of visitors kept walking up, faces falling after reading the notice taped to the entrance.
It was still early, so we decided to go to the Eiffel Tower after some hot lunch. Luq suggested that we walk towards the Notre Dame, where we had bought some halal chicken sandwiches a few weeks ago, so we proceeded to do that. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the cold had set Mr Pathfinder's compass the wrong way, for he led us in the opposite direction to where we were supposed to go. It wasn't too bad, though, cos we saw an interesting area of Paris that we had never been to, and even bought him a turtleneck along the way.
It was getting late by the time we realised we were all turned around, so we took the train back to Denfert Rochereau, intending to switch trains there and travel onwards to Bir Hakim. While waiting to purchase our tickets, this guy asked if we had change for one euro (I distinctly heard 'exchange' as he showed us one-euro coin) and then plucked a one-euro coin (the largest coin I had, by the way) right out of my palm as I was counting my change! After which he asked if it were alright if he took it. What the hell!!! I got pretty indignant, and wanted to demand my coin back, but gave up.
After this, the first leg proceeded smoothly, but at the very first stop after Denfert, our journey came abruptly to a halt. Apparently, the train wasn't continuing on, and as this French conductor informed us, and we had to backtrack and take a more roundabout route towards St Michel Notre Dame before switching trains yet again. *Sigh* I couldn't catch what she muttered about the reason for the train stoppage, but I suppose it has to do with the strike of the train workers that's going on around now.
Got pretty excited when I heard about it a few days ago, as I wanted to watch a strike in action, but Luq refused to let me go =( Said he didn't want to see me sipping coffee in a cafe watching demonstrators standing up for rights and making fun of them inwardly. Am I really so mean?
Anyway, that was when Mr Pathfinder failed us again. We had to take the train bound for Versailles Rive Gauche (coincidentally also the stop for Chateau de Versailles, which we've been planning to go to for quite a while), but when we got to a T-junction, we almost went in the opposite direction to Saint Martin d'Etamps.
Still, we managed to get there alright, but the queue was really really really long! If this is what the crowd is like in the "off-peak" season, I shudder to see the throngs during the peak tourist period.
Feeling really really hungry by now, so we bought two crepes at a crepe stand opposite the tower. As befitted its status as a tourist trap, the crepes were exorbitant and skimped on the ingredients, with their sole redeeming feature their heat. The warmth was really welcome to my frozen fingers - which were feeling the weather even through my gloves!
Luq had commented just this morning that showers in this part of France were "wimpy" - but as though in response, we were caught in a very sudden. very heavy downpour almost immediately after we finished our crepes.
I was soaked in just a few minutes, and so were my poor feet, as my boots were not waterproof. Luq, however, was still fairly dry. Argh!!! At this moment, the brasserie at the junction opposite seemed a veritable beacon of warm cosiness, but we had to take a roundabout to reach it, there being no direct crossing. Brrrr.
Got in out of the cold at long last, and I headed straight for a corner seat which would have given us a good view of the rain outside. The garcon, though, refused to seat us there, and gave us a table on the inside. *Sigh* All I wanted was a place out of the rain, so I didn't raise a fuss.
We ordered a dozen escargots and an onion soup for Luq. The soup was pretty good - seriously, though I hate onions, but the escargots tasted pretty flat. The ones we had in KL were way better. As Luq put it, "I've tasted better sea snails."
Walking leisurely over one of the Seine bridges after dinner, we were accosted by this swarthy-looking guy who kept shoving a rose at me. Think the cold had dulled my wits, cos I thought he was giving them out as he had closed for the day and just wanted to get rid of his stock. I refused to take it a few times, but he just kept getting more insistent. Then, when I finally took it (and thanked him for it too!) he turned right around and asked Luq for three euro! That was tacky, man.
Moving on, we decided to take some shots of the Eiffel Tower from across the river. This time, as we were setting up our shots, a man crossed the road, and offered to take photos of the two of us. It was really cold, and dark besides, so it would have been really hard to take a good picture, so I refused. But he kept insisting, and even exclaimed loudly that it was free. Strange. Given our luck today, he'd probably have run away with the camera!
Saturday, November 1, 2008
24/7 is just a dream now...
One thing I'll never get used to in France is the lack of 24/7 supermarkets. Or even a convenience store.
Here in Cergy Le Haut, the supermarket is open from Mondays to Fridays, and until 1pm on Sat. And woe to you if you oversleep on Sat, cos there's no way you're going to stock that teeny fridge unless you travel to the neighbouring "cities".
I didn't realise that the first two weeks I was here. Till then, I hadn't understood the doomsayers who warned me about starving in France. Starve? In France? The land of haute cuisine? I scoffed at them all... until the first Sunday I was here.
Picture me packing my nice recyclable grocery bag on Saturday evening (they're very big on recycling here, and that's a good habit I've picked up), and making my way to the supermarket in sweats. Only to realise that it was *look of horror* CLOSED. Closed, and there was NOTHING in my fridge except an egg.
So there I went back to my room, forced to make my egg last over the weekend. Thank goodness I also had a pack of chips, otherwise, Monday would probably see me weakened and trying to crawl out of my room, foaming at the mouth while having delusions about food.
Hm... I'm still not sure that wouldn't happen. I dreamt of dining at Carousel's buffet last night, and woke up feeling utterly sorry for myself. I miss the enormous dessert spread, and the fresh pacific lobsters at the seafood bar! And the HUGE scallops with broccoli which makes an occasional appearance (and which also does a hellva disappearing act too, aided by the throngs of greedy diners who scoop up heaps of steaming scallop and leave the veggies like second-rate poor cousins).
Dang. Miss the 24/7 Cold Storage near my home in Marine Parade. At this moment, I'll settle for a 7-11, even with its bad sandwiches and inflated prices. But which has wonderful Slurpees that give a sugar kick with oomph at 3 am in the morning.
And MacDelivery!!!!! No one's going to deliver food to me in the wee hours of the night anymore. Help!
Here in Cergy Le Haut, the supermarket is open from Mondays to Fridays, and until 1pm on Sat. And woe to you if you oversleep on Sat, cos there's no way you're going to stock that teeny fridge unless you travel to the neighbouring "cities".
I didn't realise that the first two weeks I was here. Till then, I hadn't understood the doomsayers who warned me about starving in France. Starve? In France? The land of haute cuisine? I scoffed at them all... until the first Sunday I was here.
Picture me packing my nice recyclable grocery bag on Saturday evening (they're very big on recycling here, and that's a good habit I've picked up), and making my way to the supermarket in sweats. Only to realise that it was *look of horror* CLOSED. Closed, and there was NOTHING in my fridge except an egg.
So there I went back to my room, forced to make my egg last over the weekend. Thank goodness I also had a pack of chips, otherwise, Monday would probably see me weakened and trying to crawl out of my room, foaming at the mouth while having delusions about food.
Hm... I'm still not sure that wouldn't happen. I dreamt of dining at Carousel's buffet last night, and woke up feeling utterly sorry for myself. I miss the enormous dessert spread, and the fresh pacific lobsters at the seafood bar! And the HUGE scallops with broccoli which makes an occasional appearance (and which also does a hellva disappearing act too, aided by the throngs of greedy diners who scoop up heaps of steaming scallop and leave the veggies like second-rate poor cousins).
Dang. Miss the 24/7 Cold Storage near my home in Marine Parade. At this moment, I'll settle for a 7-11, even with its bad sandwiches and inflated prices. But which has wonderful Slurpees that give a sugar kick with oomph at 3 am in the morning.
And MacDelivery!!!!! No one's going to deliver food to me in the wee hours of the night anymore. Help!
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Foggy Bottom... erm Top
It was so foggy this morning, I almost thought the clouds had descended the earth and were blanketing Cergy Le Haut. Cool. Or should I say, cold! Was shivering as I walked to the train station, and had to be extra careful, as I could only see a few metres directly ahead of me. All else was lost in a filmy white haze. Could almost imagine myself transported to some land far away from civilisation if not for other commuters also making their way to the train station. Wanted to rush back to my room to grab my camera and snap a few pictures, but was already running late.
Pretty eerie, though. You could hear footsteps, especially the tapping of ladies' high heels, but not see anyone unless they were almost within touching distance. Sadly, the fog dissipated later in the day. By mid-afternoon, the fog had thinned to a mist... *Sigh*
One of my classmates said the weather forecasters had predicted snow today, but saw nary a flurry. Maybe, if this cold spell continues, we'll actually have a white winter this year!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Train quirks
The trains here are pretty funny. Despite the vaunted efficiency of the metro in most tour guides, they're actually late half the time. Well, I figure that's kind of a given, considering we're dealing with the infamous concept of "French Time" every day. I can live with that, I guess, and late trains are not a French phenomena anyway.
A true French quirk, though, would be the audio systems in the train. We KNOW they're working, but most of the time, there's not a squeak out of them. Then, when you're used to silent trains that don't announce their arrivals at train stations, an announcement would blare out, startling you out of a half-doze.
The worst thing of all, though, is the train that skips stations! I'm not joking. 'Express' trains occur during the peak hours, bringing commuters to Paris quickly, but if you happen to want to get off at some of the less frequented stations, bon chance.
I experienced it first-hand when going for my medical appointment last week. Needed to get my X-ray at Val D'Argentuil, and had to change trains to get there. No problem. I looked up the trains required, and noted the stations accordingly.
Went there with a few classmates, so we had some company while waiting for the train. We met incredibly early at 7.30 am *yawn*, and the first leg of the journey went off perfectly. We had to wait half an hour for the next train, though (despite what the signboard claimed) - and worse, it roared past our train station! Good thing it stopped at the next one, so we went to the bus terminus to hop onto a bus to take us to the medical centre. That entailed an additional half-hour's weight, together with an hour-long journey.
Which meant, of course, that we were late by an hour by the time we finally arrived at 10 am. The upside, though, was that the waiting time was considerably shortened. We anticipated a long wait, since there were "10-20 people ahead of us in the queue", according to the lady who took our letters of appointment - but surprise surprise. We managed to get our X-rays done within a surprisingly short time, and we were done in slightly under an hour! Wow.
There was another long wait when we got to the train station, but this time, we got to base camp without a hitch. Thank goodness.
A true French quirk, though, would be the audio systems in the train. We KNOW they're working, but most of the time, there's not a squeak out of them. Then, when you're used to silent trains that don't announce their arrivals at train stations, an announcement would blare out, startling you out of a half-doze.
The worst thing of all, though, is the train that skips stations! I'm not joking. 'Express' trains occur during the peak hours, bringing commuters to Paris quickly, but if you happen to want to get off at some of the less frequented stations, bon chance.
I experienced it first-hand when going for my medical appointment last week. Needed to get my X-ray at Val D'Argentuil, and had to change trains to get there. No problem. I looked up the trains required, and noted the stations accordingly.
Went there with a few classmates, so we had some company while waiting for the train. We met incredibly early at 7.30 am *yawn*, and the first leg of the journey went off perfectly. We had to wait half an hour for the next train, though (despite what the signboard claimed) - and worse, it roared past our train station! Good thing it stopped at the next one, so we went to the bus terminus to hop onto a bus to take us to the medical centre. That entailed an additional half-hour's weight, together with an hour-long journey.
Which meant, of course, that we were late by an hour by the time we finally arrived at 10 am. The upside, though, was that the waiting time was considerably shortened. We anticipated a long wait, since there were "10-20 people ahead of us in the queue", according to the lady who took our letters of appointment - but surprise surprise. We managed to get our X-rays done within a surprisingly short time, and we were done in slightly under an hour! Wow.
There was another long wait when we got to the train station, but this time, we got to base camp without a hitch. Thank goodness.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Chinoiserie in Paris
Finally made my way to Chinatown. Yea, I know it tops the list of many Chinese in France, but hey, this isn't exactly a pilgrimage to my ancestral roots. Hehe. Not that they'd be on this side of the ocean anyway.
Have to say, though, that I really miss all the familiar food. Could kill for a plate of fatty, oily char kway teow or or luat right now, even though I wasn't such a big fan of it back in SG. Guess maybe the grass is always greener on the other side. When the food was readily available, it didn't seem like such a big deal, but once you can't have it, you start craving it.
Had some sweet and sour chicken, Thai basil prawns, mixed veggies and rice for dinner. I really have to brush up my incredibly bad French. Ordering was OK, until it came to my order for rice... apparently, my pronunciation was so bad, it sounded like sauce to the cashier, who finally gave up and asked me what I wanted in Mandarin. O boy. But hey, at least I got what I wanted, right?
Near the end of our meal, we were accosted by a guy who entered the restaurant and made begging gestures. Thought he was asking for money, so I said no. He left, and loitered outside. Strangely, I didn't see him accost anyone else, and when he lit up a cigarette, I felt kind of justified in rejecting him. But felt really bad when he took our leftovers when we were clearing our plates. *Sigh*
On the more positive side, found lots of interesting ingredients to cook with, stuff which aren't readily available even in the Asian supermarket in Cergy Le Haut. Har kow, siew mai, and even instant char mee. And of course, mangoes. Yum. Thai ivory mangoes cost much more than exotic mangoes from Spain, but I guess we've got to pay their plane ticket to Paris.
BUT STILL NO ABALONE SAUCE. Do I possess the only two (now down to one and a quarter) bottles of abalone sauce in the whole of France? I simply can't believe this. We combed quite a few streets, supermarkets and grocery stores, but nary a bottle in sight. There was black pepper sauce, plum sauce, Peking duck sauce!!!, fish sauce, char siu sauce, curry sauce, achar!! But no abalone sauce. *Sigh* I can see myself rationing my abalone sauce when cooking, and packing bottles of it in my luggage in lieu of the clothes/books/necessities which others pack.
Still, managed to make one of Luq's favourite dishes. Mango prawns in abalone sauce wrapped in prata. Sinful, but yummy. Can't even recall the last time I had prata. But this is one dish you definitely can't take too much of. Can feel my cholesterol levels shooting up, and the fat cells in my body expanding by the millions. OK, I exaggerate, but surely I can exercise some artistic license in my own blog?
Have to say, though, that I really miss all the familiar food. Could kill for a plate of fatty, oily char kway teow or or luat right now, even though I wasn't such a big fan of it back in SG. Guess maybe the grass is always greener on the other side. When the food was readily available, it didn't seem like such a big deal, but once you can't have it, you start craving it.
Had some sweet and sour chicken, Thai basil prawns, mixed veggies and rice for dinner. I really have to brush up my incredibly bad French. Ordering was OK, until it came to my order for rice... apparently, my pronunciation was so bad, it sounded like sauce to the cashier, who finally gave up and asked me what I wanted in Mandarin. O boy. But hey, at least I got what I wanted, right?
Near the end of our meal, we were accosted by a guy who entered the restaurant and made begging gestures. Thought he was asking for money, so I said no. He left, and loitered outside. Strangely, I didn't see him accost anyone else, and when he lit up a cigarette, I felt kind of justified in rejecting him. But felt really bad when he took our leftovers when we were clearing our plates. *Sigh*
On the more positive side, found lots of interesting ingredients to cook with, stuff which aren't readily available even in the Asian supermarket in Cergy Le Haut. Har kow, siew mai, and even instant char mee. And of course, mangoes. Yum. Thai ivory mangoes cost much more than exotic mangoes from Spain, but I guess we've got to pay their plane ticket to Paris.
BUT STILL NO ABALONE SAUCE. Do I possess the only two (now down to one and a quarter) bottles of abalone sauce in the whole of France? I simply can't believe this. We combed quite a few streets, supermarkets and grocery stores, but nary a bottle in sight. There was black pepper sauce, plum sauce, Peking duck sauce!!!, fish sauce, char siu sauce, curry sauce, achar!! But no abalone sauce. *Sigh* I can see myself rationing my abalone sauce when cooking, and packing bottles of it in my luggage in lieu of the clothes/books/necessities which others pack.
Still, managed to make one of Luq's favourite dishes. Mango prawns in abalone sauce wrapped in prata. Sinful, but yummy. Can't even recall the last time I had prata. But this is one dish you definitely can't take too much of. Can feel my cholesterol levels shooting up, and the fat cells in my body expanding by the millions. OK, I exaggerate, but surely I can exercise some artistic license in my own blog?
Sunday, October 19, 2008
La Conciergerie
Visited La Conciergerie yesterday. This is actually an annexe to the Ministry of Justice, but it is of historical significance in its own right. Marie Antoinette was interred here for two months before her final appointment with Madame la Guillotine, as were countless other revolutionary victims. Ironically, Robespierre too, spent his final moments in this place.
The main salle de guards was very impressive and inspiring. Soaring pillars held up the scalloped ceilings, while lights blossoming strategically from the mid-point of each column created a beautiful, dramatic lumincence to the whole.
However, the rest of the place was pretty dreary and depressing, as can be expected from its status as a prison during the French Revolution. There were wax works of prisoners in their cells, as well as one of Marie Antoinette in her own cubicle - wax impression above (although the cell in which she was actually held no longer exists, having been partitioned in two after the revolution).
Really hard to believe that such a small place actually held over 2,000 people during the Revolution - they must have been interred only briefly before execution, or the conditions would have been extremely cramped and crowded.
It was a relief for me to leave La Conciergerie - I can't imagine how prisoners must have felt.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Help! The dark side beckons...
Bought the iPhone for Luq last Friday, but it's locked for six months, so I'm using it for the time being. Bad idea. I've been downloading all sorts of handy apps and ebooks to the iPhone, and it's now my trusty companion on those long bus and train rides - so much so that I'm actually considering getting one for myself.
It's relatively cheap getting it here (compared to Singapore and Hong Kong). Luq got his 16gb iPhone without a contract for 609 euro, but if I get it on a one-year plan, it's only 199 euro with a 45 euro monthly plan. It's 739 in all - which means that I'll essentially be paying 130 euro for one year of talk-time! Getting the same unlocked phone in Singapore was $2,000 (about 900 euro) last I checked in Sim Lim Square - so the phone plus one year's talk time would still cost less here than in Singapore. Wow.
But do I really need it? 45 euro a month for phone bills is more than 10% of my allowance... I can buy a whole booklet of tickets to Paris for that amount. It'll definitely put a little dent into my my budget, so I've got to consider this carefully. *sigh* So many wants vs so little cash.... I seriously need a job!
Heh. Luq says he misses my 'mean bitch editor' persona, but maybe he just misses me being able to buy my own stuff... I'm such a freeloader.
It's relatively cheap getting it here (compared to Singapore and Hong Kong). Luq got his 16gb iPhone without a contract for 609 euro, but if I get it on a one-year plan, it's only 199 euro with a 45 euro monthly plan. It's 739 in all - which means that I'll essentially be paying 130 euro for one year of talk-time! Getting the same unlocked phone in Singapore was $2,000 (about 900 euro) last I checked in Sim Lim Square - so the phone plus one year's talk time would still cost less here than in Singapore. Wow.
But do I really need it? 45 euro a month for phone bills is more than 10% of my allowance... I can buy a whole booklet of tickets to Paris for that amount. It'll definitely put a little dent into my my budget, so I've got to consider this carefully. *sigh* So many wants vs so little cash.... I seriously need a job!
Heh. Luq says he misses my 'mean bitch editor' persona, but maybe he just misses me being able to buy my own stuff... I'm such a freeloader.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Blab blab blabbermouths
I like a lot of the French people, but one thing I really absolutely hate is the amount of blabbing that goes on in a classroom! I don't mean people who actively participate in class - nope, those I'm referring to are the bigmouthed ones who seem to have an incessant stream of chatter pouring out all through lessons!
Marketing was especially bad. Even though our lecturer asked the perpetrators to pipe down several times during the class, they just kept at it. On and on, until I had a headache just from the drone of perpetual murmuring. Don't they ever get tired? That was a bad three hours' worth of almost non-stop yammering!
I'm not a studious person, but seriously, if they'd rather talk and not use their ears, as they're supposed to during a lesson, they should simply skip the class and chat on their own time. Argh!
Marketing was especially bad. Even though our lecturer asked the perpetrators to pipe down several times during the class, they just kept at it. On and on, until I had a headache just from the drone of perpetual murmuring. Don't they ever get tired? That was a bad three hours' worth of almost non-stop yammering!
I'm not a studious person, but seriously, if they'd rather talk and not use their ears, as they're supposed to during a lesson, they should simply skip the class and chat on their own time. Argh!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Hoofing it in the Latin Quarter
Spent the day in Paris. Extremely footsore, but quite happy. Luq and I must have traipsed through the entire Latin Quarter - we spent nine long hours simply walking around, taking photos and wandering wherever our fancy takes us. Luq was pretty embarassed by my 'touristy' attitude. *Sigh* What's the point of going to a new place if you don't give in to your inner shutterbug?
Wanted to go to the Musee de Lourve, but it was really crowded. We DID traverse the length of the Lourve three times in our quest for new sights, though! It was huge - but my feet really did not appreciate it.
Wanted to go to the Musee de Lourve, but it was really crowded. We DID traverse the length of the Lourve three times in our quest for new sights, though! It was huge - but my feet really did not appreciate it.
Walking along the River Seine and cruising along it in a boat are very different experiences. On the boat, everything passes by really quickly - good for a snapshot of the places lining the river, but it's only if you actually tread the streets on your own two feet that you see the finer details in the carvings, and the painstaking effort their creators had put in. Wow.
Went to Notre Dame and took some photos outside. Grand, gothic... The gargoyles were pretty cool, and the carvings decorating the exterior spectacular. Hard to believe all that was done through sheer artistry and what must have taken a whole ton of chisels. Couldn't get in, though - the queue snaking outside ensured that. Guess we'll have to visit Paris' sights some other day, when admittance is not free like today.
Still, the very age of the city takes one's breath away. There's more history and culture here in one street than in most other countries, and what's truly amazing is that they have weathered it all relatively intact! Especially given the fervour of the French Revolution, and the fire-happy instincts of the mob mentality.
Interestingly, there are a lot of sorbet shops in Paris. There must have been one or two at every street corner. Hm... isn't it cold enough without cooling your insides? But I bet they'd be really welcome in summer. Yum Yum.
Japanese restaurants have also become ubiquitous in Paris. Must have walked past at least six or seven different outlets. It's really strange, though, to see Caucasians sitting happily in an Oriental setting, chatting over a cup of green tea and wielding chopsticks with relative ease. You don't even see that very often in Singapore, but here, it seems to be the norm and not an oddity.
Spotted two really lovely bags, but the first, at 70+ euro, was way too expensive. Cute, though, and pretty unique. It had a Japanese silk painting on one side, and I really like the shape, which is kind of like an upturned chef's hat.
We may joke about people living under the bridge, but it's really sad when you actually encounter someone doing it. Took a photo of what looked like a bunch of rags, but turned out to be a man sleeping in a 'nest' of cast-offs. Can't imagine how he survives the cold, but he seemed pretty blase about it. Still, I would think it's not exactly a great way to spend one's night.
Japanese restaurants have also become ubiquitous in Paris. Must have walked past at least six or seven different outlets. It's really strange, though, to see Caucasians sitting happily in an Oriental setting, chatting over a cup of green tea and wielding chopsticks with relative ease. You don't even see that very often in Singapore, but here, it seems to be the norm and not an oddity.
Spotted two really lovely bags, but the first, at 70+ euro, was way too expensive. Cute, though, and pretty unique. It had a Japanese silk painting on one side, and I really like the shape, which is kind of like an upturned chef's hat.
We may joke about people living under the bridge, but it's really sad when you actually encounter someone doing it. Took a photo of what looked like a bunch of rags, but turned out to be a man sleeping in a 'nest' of cast-offs. Can't imagine how he survives the cold, but he seemed pretty blase about it. Still, I would think it's not exactly a great way to spend one's night.
The weather was so cold that even the policemen guarding some of the public buildings in France were snugly enclosed in man-sized little glass cases. And there I was thinking that was a very beautifully coloured, life-like statue!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Brrr....
Autumn seems to have crept in on France all in one weekend. Suddenly, it seems, there are red and yellowing trees wherever one looks, while fallen leaves abound on the ground. It's also turned a lot colder, but the good news is that the heater in my room has now been turned on. Hooray! No more huddling under the blankie hoping my frozen toes would have thawed by morning.
It's very beautiful, though, especially in the school's temporary canteen. That's a place that would have been a very very expensive restaurant if located in Singapore. Floor-length windows give long views outside, and we're surrounded by windows on three sides of the place.
There's a lush park right on its doorstep, with a pond nearby and all the tranquil walks one could wish for within a stone's throw away - literally. Bet it's a favourite haunt of young lovers when it's a little warmer, but in the meantime, this makes my lunch hour way more scenic than a quick sandwich gobbled over the keyboard in my room.
Luq's coming in a few days, and I'm really looking forward to it. Have lots of plans for sightseeing during the month that he'll be here - I'm really hoping to go to Versailles, and maybe even check out the rest of Europe (on his travel allowance!) since I'm such a poor student. Hehe.
It's very beautiful, though, especially in the school's temporary canteen. That's a place that would have been a very very expensive restaurant if located in Singapore. Floor-length windows give long views outside, and we're surrounded by windows on three sides of the place.
There's a lush park right on its doorstep, with a pond nearby and all the tranquil walks one could wish for within a stone's throw away - literally. Bet it's a favourite haunt of young lovers when it's a little warmer, but in the meantime, this makes my lunch hour way more scenic than a quick sandwich gobbled over the keyboard in my room.
Luq's coming in a few days, and I'm really looking forward to it. Have lots of plans for sightseeing during the month that he'll be here - I'm really hoping to go to Versailles, and maybe even check out the rest of Europe (on his travel allowance!) since I'm such a poor student. Hehe.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Guide? Moi?
Went exploring around Cergy St Christophe today. Seems almost like a Middle Eastern/Asian town to me. There was a halal butchery, bakery, and the supermarket had an entire halal section, not to mention curry spices and the like. There was even a Chinese, as well as Japanese, restaurant offering buffets!
Ironically enough, I was just going around minding my own business, checking out the town and trying to find my way around when a car pulled up beside me near a roundabout. The driver unwound his window, and asked me - yes, me! - for directions.
Couldn't understand what he was saying, so I smiled at him and replied politely in French that I speak English. Finally figured out that he was referring to the train station, but since he couldn't understand my directions, I turned around and gestured vaguely in the direction he should go in. Hope he doesn't get lost...
Friday, September 5, 2008
History in 3-dimensional splendour
Visited the magnificent Chateau de Fontainebleau today. It was grand, imposing, palatial... just about all the adjectives that one can think of to describe a castle which housed royalty for seven centuries. The 'horseshoe' entrance was especially magnificent. Could almost imagine kings and queens of yore sweeping down the stairway in their ermine, silks and sables, trailed by their royal court on the way to their carriage or mounts.
Its first stone was actually laid before the 12th Century A.D., but only part of it remains, as the existing castle was built on the original foundations by Francois I in 1528, and further enlarged by his son, Henri II. Following the latter's example, their descendants have also extensively modified and redecorated the place, hence resulting in a hodge podge of style and architecture, from the 16th (when Henry II and Catherine de Medici commissioned architects to build a new palace on the site to the 19th Century, Renaissance to Baroque (and even Turkish, in one boudoir) throughout the castle.
Proclaimed by Napoleon Bonaparte as "the true house of kings, true house of the centuries", this chateau was used as a hunting lodge by the Bourbons, and though the building itself was spared during the French Revolution, many of the original furnishings were sold. Neverthless, within a decade, Napoleon had begun to fill it up again - probably because it is not directly associated with any particular king, unlike Versailles. In fact, it was right here that he bade farewell to his old guard before going into exile.
Besides its imposing architecture, the sheer amount of effort that went into decorating the place strikes the eye. Everywhere one looks are gorgeous paintings, delicate frescoes, intricate carvings and what appears to be tons of gold leaf applied on doors, pillars, paintings, mirrors, mantelpieces, statuettes, chandeliers, cornices, ceilings... everywhere! I really wonder if the courtiers had a permanent head tilt. Maybe that sparked the trend for the uppity look commonly associated with the aristocracy?
Guess the precedent of "maximalism" was set by the founder, since the Gallery of Francois I is the first great decorated gallery built in France, and later kings simply adhered to this tradition.
The royal bedrooms were especially gilded and decorated from top to toe. Guess the monarch isn't allowed to rest his eyes on plebian empty spaces as he sinks into repose. Even Napoleon's "small bedroom" (a.k.a. study) had a "camp bed" that would have looked luxurious in any home. Sadly for Marie Antoinette, though, she did not have a chance to use the boudoir which she had lavishly draped in expensive silks. It was left to Napoleon's wife, Catherine, to "inaugurate" the room, as our audio guide delicately put it.
There was even a stuffed elephant propped up on its trunk in the Athena Room (at least that's what I think it's called. Just remember it was dedicated to Athena). Would have loved to explore it, but it was strictly off limits.
What truly annoyed me, though, were the ubiquitous plaques labelling each room, with corresponding numbers to its details on the audio guide. True, they were very informative, but did they have to be placed in such prominent positions? Many a time, I had gotten the perfect angle for a perfect shot of the room - only to be foiled by a white-mounted pedestal that simply looked out of place in my photo. Argh!
Still, I couldn't help feeling saddened as I toured the palace. Such an immense place for one man and his wife/mistresses to use as a hunting lodge for part of the year seems more than a little excessive to me, especially as the peasants were literally starved into uprising at the tail-end of the dynasty.
Not surprisingly, the grounds, and the lake in particular, were even beautiful, as far as I was concerned. Looking at the surroundings, one can easily see just why anyone would want to keep coming back to this tranquil spot.
Really loved the lake. It was raining throughout the day when we were there (by the way, I seriously recommend climbing out of bed early so you can be at Fontainebleau when it opens at 9.30 am. We reached there at about 11, and had to leave by 3.30pm - the time was really too short! And if you didn't bring a picnic lunch, drop by the city of Fontainebleau and rest your tired feet at the many little cafes there instead of the overpriced one in the chateau, which offers lunch on the grounds as its only attraction. You can return to the Chateau with the same ticket you bought in the morning, so don't lose it) but we managed to catch sight of some ducks lazily swimming across the lake.
There were even some boats there, so one could take them out and simply meditate in the middle of this extremely idyllic spot.
The city of Fontainebleau, which grew up around the keep (and not the other way around as is traditional) is worth a visit. We even saw a working carousel there! Sadly, my camera battery had died by then, or I would have taken one of a little girl riding her favourite mount in circles during the lunch hour. Many of the stores seemed to target the tourist crowd - we even found a store selling 'exotic' items from Kenya, Madagascar, Thailand and Indonesia! There was even an Indian restaurant selling curry - right in the heart of the French kings' country retreat. Wonder what they would have thought of it.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Opening a French bank account II
I've finally received my debit card! Now I can deposit cash, withdraw money or pay by card at stores and ticketing booth - in short, do all the things that a debit card enables one to do.
My fourth (and final) trip to the bank wasn't as hassle-proof as I had thought it would be, though. My expectations of being able to zip in and out with card in hand were dashed as soon as I reached the counter, where I was waved toward yet another chair in yet another antechamber.
After a short wait, I was brought to yet another bank officer's office. This time, she had all my documents ready, but I had to sign a whole stack of papers! My rule of thumb has always been to NOT sign papers I've not read, but it was totally shattered today.
Everything was in French, and enquiries about the nature of the contracts I was signing brought puzzled looks and extremely labourious replies (most of which failed to answer my questions to begin with). In the end, I just gave up and signed my life away.
Still, I finally have my card now, and by dint of experimenting, I've figured out how to deposit and withdraw cash (these transactions are carried out at different machines), and check my transaction history without understanding the on-screen instructions (which, predictably, are in French). Cool, huh? I've only managed to do this with the ATM machines in Singapore, with which I'm so familiar that I can even withdraw money following the Malay instructions. Now I can add one more language to my list. =)
My fourth (and final) trip to the bank wasn't as hassle-proof as I had thought it would be, though. My expectations of being able to zip in and out with card in hand were dashed as soon as I reached the counter, where I was waved toward yet another chair in yet another antechamber.
After a short wait, I was brought to yet another bank officer's office. This time, she had all my documents ready, but I had to sign a whole stack of papers! My rule of thumb has always been to NOT sign papers I've not read, but it was totally shattered today.
Everything was in French, and enquiries about the nature of the contracts I was signing brought puzzled looks and extremely labourious replies (most of which failed to answer my questions to begin with). In the end, I just gave up and signed my life away.
Still, I finally have my card now, and by dint of experimenting, I've figured out how to deposit and withdraw cash (these transactions are carried out at different machines), and check my transaction history without understanding the on-screen instructions (which, predictably, are in French). Cool, huh? I've only managed to do this with the ATM machines in Singapore, with which I'm so familiar that I can even withdraw money following the Malay instructions. Now I can add one more language to my list. =)
Monday, September 1, 2008
Opening a French bank account
Cergy Prefecture, 12.00 noon
Opening a French bank account in France is easy. I had done that even before stepping foot on the country, but activating the account was far more complicated. The email I received merely said that I need to show my passport, and everything would be settled for me. The first time I came to the bank, however, they told me that I need a proof of residence, which I can get from my hostel officials. I was disappointed, but figured it was part of the due process, and maybe I just hadn’t understood.
The second time, I brought my proof of residence, duly signed and stamped – this time, I was told that I needed a certain print-out which the school coordinator would have for me. Went looking all over the school for her office, only to be told that she wasn’t in that day (Friday) and to come back again on Monday. On enquiring further, however, I found out that the “print-out” which the bank officials referred to was actually part of a stack of letters which I had received together with my student pack – and, of course, they were all in French!
Why the bank would address letters in French to a non-French speaking student, I simply do not understand. This particular account opening process was for international students, so you would assume they would keep that in mind. After opening the letters and seeing that they were all unintelligible, I had simply thrown up my hands and shelved them all neatly on my (almost empty) bookcase.
OK, third time’s the charm, they say, so there I went again. Queued up for about ten minutes, and was told that the officer’s colleague would attend to me – but I’d have to wait for 15 minutes. Waiting right now, and there’s still no sign of him/her after 20 minutes. Hope nothing goes wrong this time. Just to be safe, I’ve brought the entire stack of letters, my passport, my student card, proof of residence, etc. Don’t want to have to come back to the bank again. To be frank, I’m pretty tired of the entire merry-go-round.
Guess what, it wasn’t the end of the story. First, the second bank officer couldn’t find my file, and had to borrow my passport to cross-check the name. Then, he came in, and told me very apologetically that my file couldn’t be found. I had actually seen it the first time I went there, so I knew it was around somewhere. Told him so, and even pointed out the bank officer who had located it last week.
At last, he came in toting my big purple file – but his superior had not signed one of the documents, so I still couldn’t get my card, or deposit any cash in my account! I’ve to go back tomorrow, between nine to 11 o’clock. Gosh, what a very bureacratic bank!
Opening a French bank account in France is easy. I had done that even before stepping foot on the country, but activating the account was far more complicated. The email I received merely said that I need to show my passport, and everything would be settled for me. The first time I came to the bank, however, they told me that I need a proof of residence, which I can get from my hostel officials. I was disappointed, but figured it was part of the due process, and maybe I just hadn’t understood.
The second time, I brought my proof of residence, duly signed and stamped – this time, I was told that I needed a certain print-out which the school coordinator would have for me. Went looking all over the school for her office, only to be told that she wasn’t in that day (Friday) and to come back again on Monday. On enquiring further, however, I found out that the “print-out” which the bank officials referred to was actually part of a stack of letters which I had received together with my student pack – and, of course, they were all in French!
Why the bank would address letters in French to a non-French speaking student, I simply do not understand. This particular account opening process was for international students, so you would assume they would keep that in mind. After opening the letters and seeing that they were all unintelligible, I had simply thrown up my hands and shelved them all neatly on my (almost empty) bookcase.
OK, third time’s the charm, they say, so there I went again. Queued up for about ten minutes, and was told that the officer’s colleague would attend to me – but I’d have to wait for 15 minutes. Waiting right now, and there’s still no sign of him/her after 20 minutes. Hope nothing goes wrong this time. Just to be safe, I’ve brought the entire stack of letters, my passport, my student card, proof of residence, etc. Don’t want to have to come back to the bank again. To be frank, I’m pretty tired of the entire merry-go-round.
Guess what, it wasn’t the end of the story. First, the second bank officer couldn’t find my file, and had to borrow my passport to cross-check the name. Then, he came in, and told me very apologetically that my file couldn’t be found. I had actually seen it the first time I went there, so I knew it was around somewhere. Told him so, and even pointed out the bank officer who had located it last week.
At last, he came in toting my big purple file – but his superior had not signed one of the documents, so I still couldn’t get my card, or deposit any cash in my account! I’ve to go back tomorrow, between nine to 11 o’clock. Gosh, what a very bureacratic bank!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Expose of the underbelly
Was uploading my photos when I remembered a funny thing about the bridges on the River Seine. Some of them are stuffed with rags underneath! I don't know why, but think it'll make for a good story. Dickens has written a lot about the river life on the river Thames - maybe it's time someone else did the same for the River Seine? Hm....
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Boating through Paris
Did the grand tour of Paris on a boat today: the "bateau mouche" (literally "boat wipes" in French), courtesy of my school's student committee. It was marvellous! Definitely an experience to be recommended to those who come to Paris.
Next, we were brought on a walking tour of Paris (or what felt like it, only without the tour guide blaring out names and synopses of the buildings we passed by). Took tons of photos along the way, all the while feeling smug about my good sense in wearing flats (aka slippers) for the tour.
Initially, though, I was a little disappointed. Had thought that we were going to Paris by chartered bus, and so started being Ms Grouch when we were led to the train station. Did my accounts last night, and discovered that I had overspent by a hundred euros, mostly because of my new boots and having to settle in. Had decided to tighten my belt for the next few weeks to make up for this, and so didn't appreciate having to fork out a 9.90 euro return ticket to Paris from my already-slim funds.
The journey was quite long, over an hour, so I guess it was a pretty fair price to pay. Unfortunately, the train was really crowded, so we couldn't get a seat. Had to stand all the way to the Franklin D Roosevelt Station even after we changed trains at Chatre Havernay.
Next, we were brought on a walking tour of Paris (or what felt like it, only without the tour guide blaring out names and synopses of the buildings we passed by). Took tons of photos along the way, all the while feeling smug about my good sense in wearing flats (aka slippers) for the tour.
It was a really hot day, and turned even warmer as we stood in the sun waiting in line to enter the boat. Could feel myself wilting, and the jacket in my arms only added to the overall temperature... Hadn't been this hot since before the monsoon season in Singapore!
Got myself a seat in the second row, and waited for the rest of the passengers to embark. Was almost five o'clock by the time the boat finally unmoored from the pier. Which meant the entire afternoon had been spent getting to Paris and the boat, since we had congregated in school at 1.45 pm!
Once we set off, though, the experience more than made up for the minor hiccups along the way. The view was stunning, and we got to see Paris from its underbelly. Simply stood at the rail and gave in to my trigger-happy instincts. Didn't stop until it was almost time to get off.
Passed by many famous Parisian landmarks, such as the Eiffel Tower (that oh-so-phallic icon of Paris), the Louvre, the Bastille, Notre Dame, and even a miniature Statue of Liberty! The last, and the Eiffel Tower, were the ones that got the other passengers' cameras on the go too.
The people lining the river were the other (albeit unintended) highlight of the trip. Some were out for a leisurely picnic, but most were sunbathing. There was even an elderly lady who had simply taken her top off, pushed her bra straps down and was soaking in the sun on a deserted stretch of 'beach' (in my album, Boating on River Seine II). Guess cold/warmth is really all about perspectives. The sunbathers probably loved the balmy weather, while I was uncomfortably reminded of the not-so-beloved tropics I had just escaped from.
We also met lots of other watercraft, ranging from riverboat tours like ours (only with more frills) to themed cruises, restaurant boats (Maxim's was very prominent, luxurious, and even had a grand piano inside!) and what looked like private barges. Damn, wish I own one, and could sail down the River Seine... maybe all the way to the Nile... There was even one where a lady was kicking back on a deck chair, shielded by an enormous umbrella, sipping tea and tapping away on her keyboard. All alone! And on another part of the river, was a small boat named Popeye (above. It is also in my album: Boating on River Seine II)). Serious!
Maybe not very surprisingly, there are numerous bridges along the river. We hear many stories about French cuisine, French architecture, but very little about the criss-crossing arches connecting one part of Paris to the other. Well, I think there should be more. Each bridge had its own personality, and many of the older bridges had intricately carved details embossed on their surface - a detail that has been left out of the grand, inspiring but starkly impersonal architecture of today.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Rural rat goes to the supermarket
Finally saw my bunnies after almost a week of missing them. Luq had put the Eee-PC in front of them and set up a video chat via Skype so I could talk to them and see them at the same time.Must have really frightened Kell, cos he was all huddled up in his little house peeking out at me. Not sure if he was more afraid of the disembodied voice coming out from the square box, or if he associated the laptop with the shock he received yesterday (from chewing through the adapter wire) though. *Sigh*
Tanya was a little better. Was worried about her since Luq mentioned that there hadn't been a single peep out of her since I left - and she's normally vocal to the point where I've to shut her up by caressing her into silence. She behaved pretty normally, and actually came quite close to the screen when bribed with a milk and honey drop.
Wish I were there to hug them and remind them I still love them.
Went to Auchan, the supermarket at 3 Fontaine Cergy, the mall I discovered the other day, to cheer myself up. Maybe it's because I'm getting used to being in a small town, but gawked like a country bumpkin at just about every aisle I came to. Had somehow lost my comb along the way to the hostel (at least, the last time I saw it was before I left the plane), so hit the toiletries section to get a replacement.
Got sidetracked before I even saw a bristle. They had familiar shampoo brands!!! Pantene, L'Oreal, Sunsilk... the packaging looked different for some of these, but they were all there! (And to think I had lugged my full-sized Pantene conditioner all the way to Cergy Le Haut from Singapore. That's a really well-travelled bottle, man. Maybe I should send it back to the factory so it can teach the little bottles about the world =P )
Checked out the shower foams too, and got a nice bamboo and lime one from Fa that was actually PH-neutral. That is just something you can't find in Singapore. And believe me, I've tried!
When I finally tired of toiletries, I went grocery hunting. Had wanted to get green tea at the 'supermarket' in Cergy Le Haut, but the only green tea they had - Lipton Clear Green - came out yellow and tasted funny. Sort of minty, and definitely not the green tea I'm used to. Fresh foods were upstairs, so off I went. Started smelling something fishy on the travellator, and no wonder, the seafood section was right in front. Lobsters, prawns, mussels, scallops.... and even some unidentifiable white longish one-inch-thick strings of squid-like substance labelled in French. I could make myself a really nice meal from these.
Didn't feel like cooking, though, especially with two thick course catalogues in my bag, so took my goggling self elsewhere. It was a pretty well-equipped supermarket. The pastries looked ultra-delicious, and there was even this delicacy that looked like two huge choux pastry held together with strawberries and cream. For just 6-plus euros! I was really tempted by it, but wasn't sure how long it could keep... Figured I had better skip it before I gave myself a bellyache.
Had a brainwave for how to live well in France on a student's budget: keep packs of smoked salmon (for 2.50 euros), some cheese and lettuce/rocket in the fridge, wrap them in between two slices of freshly baked baguette or croissants, and voila! I've got to get that done over the weekend.The green tea was a little expensive, so I treated myself to Jasmine tea instead.
Gotta remind myself to ask Luq to send me some of that wonderful imported green tea we got from that Japanese restaurant in Suntec. It'd come in really handy for warming my insides on a cold evening.I digress. To demonstrate the breadth of the supermarket's offerings, there was even a halal pavilion dedicated to Ramadan goodies. Now, that's just about the last thing one would expect from a French supermarket.
But hey, surprises abound everywhere, don't they? And that's part of the reason why travelling broadens one's horizons, isn't it? I can feel my mind being stretched already...
Tanya was a little better. Was worried about her since Luq mentioned that there hadn't been a single peep out of her since I left - and she's normally vocal to the point where I've to shut her up by caressing her into silence. She behaved pretty normally, and actually came quite close to the screen when bribed with a milk and honey drop.
Wish I were there to hug them and remind them I still love them.
Went to Auchan, the supermarket at 3 Fontaine Cergy, the mall I discovered the other day, to cheer myself up. Maybe it's because I'm getting used to being in a small town, but gawked like a country bumpkin at just about every aisle I came to. Had somehow lost my comb along the way to the hostel (at least, the last time I saw it was before I left the plane), so hit the toiletries section to get a replacement.
Got sidetracked before I even saw a bristle. They had familiar shampoo brands!!! Pantene, L'Oreal, Sunsilk... the packaging looked different for some of these, but they were all there! (And to think I had lugged my full-sized Pantene conditioner all the way to Cergy Le Haut from Singapore. That's a really well-travelled bottle, man. Maybe I should send it back to the factory so it can teach the little bottles about the world =P )
Checked out the shower foams too, and got a nice bamboo and lime one from Fa that was actually PH-neutral. That is just something you can't find in Singapore. And believe me, I've tried!
When I finally tired of toiletries, I went grocery hunting. Had wanted to get green tea at the 'supermarket' in Cergy Le Haut, but the only green tea they had - Lipton Clear Green - came out yellow and tasted funny. Sort of minty, and definitely not the green tea I'm used to. Fresh foods were upstairs, so off I went. Started smelling something fishy on the travellator, and no wonder, the seafood section was right in front. Lobsters, prawns, mussels, scallops.... and even some unidentifiable white longish one-inch-thick strings of squid-like substance labelled in French. I could make myself a really nice meal from these.
Didn't feel like cooking, though, especially with two thick course catalogues in my bag, so took my goggling self elsewhere. It was a pretty well-equipped supermarket. The pastries looked ultra-delicious, and there was even this delicacy that looked like two huge choux pastry held together with strawberries and cream. For just 6-plus euros! I was really tempted by it, but wasn't sure how long it could keep... Figured I had better skip it before I gave myself a bellyache.
Had a brainwave for how to live well in France on a student's budget: keep packs of smoked salmon (for 2.50 euros), some cheese and lettuce/rocket in the fridge, wrap them in between two slices of freshly baked baguette or croissants, and voila! I've got to get that done over the weekend.The green tea was a little expensive, so I treated myself to Jasmine tea instead.
Gotta remind myself to ask Luq to send me some of that wonderful imported green tea we got from that Japanese restaurant in Suntec. It'd come in really handy for warming my insides on a cold evening.I digress. To demonstrate the breadth of the supermarket's offerings, there was even a halal pavilion dedicated to Ramadan goodies. Now, that's just about the last thing one would expect from a French supermarket.
But hey, surprises abound everywhere, don't they? And that's part of the reason why travelling broadens one's horizons, isn't it? I can feel my mind being stretched already...
Settling in...
It's amazing how a few days in any country can make anyone feel at home. I've already learnt how to:
1) Book my train ticket at the self-ticketing kiosks
2) Tell the correct train to take
3) Figure out the best ways to get to the town square, wearing heels and slippers (they require different routes, due to the steep slopes at the shortcut)
4) Get to campus without getting lost
5) Find the best-tasting pastries around
6) Survive on 2.5 euros per meal or less (although that requires a little scrimping and some creativity, since the school cafeteria doesn't seem to be fully open for business yet - at least, I've not seen any meals being offered for 2.50 euros)
Also done some grocery shopping, although the Lipton Clear Green Tea I bought yesterday tasted really funny, and didn't look green at all. =( Was pretty intrigued by a whole canister of instant lemon tea for 1.80 euros, though, as well as a tin of instant chocolate drink for 3-plus euros.
Hm... all that walking must also be good for my figure. The jeans which fit me perfectly all the way until I exited Charles de Gaulle Airport look a little baggy now. Quite sad, actually. That pair's my oldest pair of jeans, and are probably a decade old, dating from all the way back when Luq won a one-year free shopping spree at Giordano. Ah, those were good times.
1) Book my train ticket at the self-ticketing kiosks
2) Tell the correct train to take
3) Figure out the best ways to get to the town square, wearing heels and slippers (they require different routes, due to the steep slopes at the shortcut)
4) Get to campus without getting lost
5) Find the best-tasting pastries around
6) Survive on 2.5 euros per meal or less (although that requires a little scrimping and some creativity, since the school cafeteria doesn't seem to be fully open for business yet - at least, I've not seen any meals being offered for 2.50 euros)
Also done some grocery shopping, although the Lipton Clear Green Tea I bought yesterday tasted really funny, and didn't look green at all. =( Was pretty intrigued by a whole canister of instant lemon tea for 1.80 euros, though, as well as a tin of instant chocolate drink for 3-plus euros.
Hm... all that walking must also be good for my figure. The jeans which fit me perfectly all the way until I exited Charles de Gaulle Airport look a little baggy now. Quite sad, actually. That pair's my oldest pair of jeans, and are probably a decade old, dating from all the way back when Luq won a one-year free shopping spree at Giordano. Ah, those were good times.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Getting lost is not a total loss
A really eventful day. Got my first-ever ride in the driver's compartment of a moving train. Serious! I was taking a photo of the train when the driver, Farid, came out and asked me what I was doing. Told him I was taking it for my blog, and he was really nice about it. Even invited me into the driver's cabin so I could see him in action. Cool! A pity it was only two stops before I reached my destination.
Got myself really lost after arriving at the train station, but since I wasn't bogged down by three 18-kilo deadweights, it was pretty fun.Wandered around a picturesque town square dotted with small cafes and tinier shops that sold pretty much everything from shoes and clothes to *gasp* Star Wars toys. No, I'm not joking. Almost couldn't believe my eyes, though, when I saw the shop window full of toys and other 'collectibles'. Luq would be over the moon.
Was still limping around on one unbuckled boot, though, and hadn't located the school yet, so decided to put off a visit till next time.Blundered next into a shopping mall that raised my acquisitive instincts. Looked at my poor flopping boot, and headed straight for the mall directory to look for a cobbler. It was all in French, but fortunately, spotted a familiar name. Mister Minit! Wow... That was a surprise.
Even more amazingly, there was another name that reminded me even more of home. Bata. I just had to check it out. Along the way, though, spotted this really nice pair of boots in another shop window. At 40 euros, it was also among the cheapest shoes I had seen in France yet.
Immediately dashed off an SMS to Luq, telling him that if my boots were irrepairable, I've just seen their replacement. One floor up was Bata. It really was 'buy-and-throw-away' Bata! Same signage, same corporate colours - even the placements looked similar. But with the price tags that I saw on their shoes, few can afford to toss them away after wearing once or twice. The cheapest pair of boots was around 70-plus euros! What a far cry from the Bata in Singapore! I mean, the pair on my feet at the moment was from there, and I paid only S$40 for it - less than a third the price of the cheapest shoes there! This Bata sure wasn't going to do any business with me.
Left to resume my hunt for Mister Minit. The cobbler couldn't speak English, so I resorted to putting the buckle on the counter, and putting the mistreated boot next to it. Cobbler shook his head, and muttered one of the few French words I know: 'Non, non." Looks like it's time for some new shoes. But really wondered whether it was wise to buy a pair in France. I know I needed something to walk around in, but it'd be way cheaper to simply get it shipped to me. *Sigh* Shelved my acquisitive streak for the time being, and left the mall to look for the school.
Ha. Hadn't found the school yet, but located the bank. Had put that off to a vague 'some other time', but since I was already there... The bank had all my details and everything, but would release a debit card only after I showed them an accreditation of residence from my hostel. O well, at least I didn't go away empty-handed. The nice lady at the counter gave me directions to school, which was actually within sight of the bank, had I simply walked past it and around the building.
Finally got my student ID and password, and now I can connect to the Net again. Hooray!
Got myself really lost after arriving at the train station, but since I wasn't bogged down by three 18-kilo deadweights, it was pretty fun.Wandered around a picturesque town square dotted with small cafes and tinier shops that sold pretty much everything from shoes and clothes to *gasp* Star Wars toys. No, I'm not joking. Almost couldn't believe my eyes, though, when I saw the shop window full of toys and other 'collectibles'. Luq would be over the moon.
Was still limping around on one unbuckled boot, though, and hadn't located the school yet, so decided to put off a visit till next time.Blundered next into a shopping mall that raised my acquisitive instincts. Looked at my poor flopping boot, and headed straight for the mall directory to look for a cobbler. It was all in French, but fortunately, spotted a familiar name. Mister Minit! Wow... That was a surprise.
Even more amazingly, there was another name that reminded me even more of home. Bata. I just had to check it out. Along the way, though, spotted this really nice pair of boots in another shop window. At 40 euros, it was also among the cheapest shoes I had seen in France yet.
Immediately dashed off an SMS to Luq, telling him that if my boots were irrepairable, I've just seen their replacement. One floor up was Bata. It really was 'buy-and-throw-away' Bata! Same signage, same corporate colours - even the placements looked similar. But with the price tags that I saw on their shoes, few can afford to toss them away after wearing once or twice. The cheapest pair of boots was around 70-plus euros! What a far cry from the Bata in Singapore! I mean, the pair on my feet at the moment was from there, and I paid only S$40 for it - less than a third the price of the cheapest shoes there! This Bata sure wasn't going to do any business with me.
Left to resume my hunt for Mister Minit. The cobbler couldn't speak English, so I resorted to putting the buckle on the counter, and putting the mistreated boot next to it. Cobbler shook his head, and muttered one of the few French words I know: 'Non, non." Looks like it's time for some new shoes. But really wondered whether it was wise to buy a pair in France. I know I needed something to walk around in, but it'd be way cheaper to simply get it shipped to me. *Sigh* Shelved my acquisitive streak for the time being, and left the mall to look for the school.
Ha. Hadn't found the school yet, but located the bank. Had put that off to a vague 'some other time', but since I was already there... The bank had all my details and everything, but would release a debit card only after I showed them an accreditation of residence from my hostel. O well, at least I didn't go away empty-handed. The nice lady at the counter gave me directions to school, which was actually within sight of the bank, had I simply walked past it and around the building.
Finally got my student ID and password, and now I can connect to the Net again. Hooray!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The odyssey
19 40 hours Paris Time
Feels like I've gone one full circle. After becoming habituated to having Luq in bed or at least somewhere in the house while I go off to dreamland, I'm going to have to get used to sleeping alone, for a few months at least.
An anti-climatic (and somewhat depressing) end to a hectic day. I've hopped halfway across the world, landed briefly in one country and crossed yet another border all before 12 o'clock local time. And considering that the dorm is only supposed to be an hour's journey (by bus, which was the fast way) from the airport, one would assume that I'd be able to put all my stuff down and be showered before I start feeling like a sewer rat.
Just goes to show that journalism rule No. 1 still rules (and rues) my life: never assume anything. The retrieval of my delayed luggage sparked off what felt like an odyessey way before I even saw anything that looked remotely like my dorm. Deciding between the bus and train proved a Skylla and Charydbis dilemma.
I opted for the faster, more direct bus, but looking for bus 95-18 from Roissypole was not all that easy. From the map, it looked straightforward enough. Take the bus from Terminal 2D, gate 11. Walked to Terminal 2D from 2A, and sure enough, there are buses - just not the specific one that I wanted.
A very helpful young French guy who tried to interview me for a survey, but ironically was questioned by me instead, tried to help me locate my bus, which turned out to be at a different terminal. He wasn't too sure himself, though, so I ended up trundling my bags off to the information counter. Official there didn't speak English, so I resorted to showing the map on my print-out detailing instructions on how to get to the dorm. Told to take the airport train to Terminal One. Which, of course, entailed yet another walk, since I had to travel all the way to 2F, which was, not surprisingly, at the end of the terminal. Helpful French guy was really nice though. He caught up with me and tried to make sure that I did know where I was going. In fact, he had even checked and said I could take a bus there, but I decided to trust the guy at the information counter instead. Directions were in French and English, so no problems there, although my luggage got terribly scratched from the jagged edges of the escalators.
One flight of escalators and what seemed like an interminable walk later, I arrived at the bus interchange. Found my bus, but it arrives at different times everyday! Couldn't read the guide, so stood at the waiting bay (there weren't any seats) trying to keep a look-out for the bus. Must have missed the earlier bus, as other buses kept coming and going while the one I needed refused obstinately to arrive. Started getting worried after half an hour or so, as I was apparently the only one waiting for this bus!
Other passengers happily boarded the other buses arriving at my platform, and more than a few times, I was left all alone. Noticed a road sweeper clearing the leaves nearby shooting me funny looks each time the platform cleared with me holding court in solitary splendour. After the fourth or fifth time this happened, I was really worried.
Dragged my tattered dignity and all my belongings back to the airport, telling myself that I'd throw in the towel and take the train instead, even if the journey time were longer. It was only about two-plus, so I figured I'd have plenty of time to check in at my hostel before the officials closed up shop at 18 30 hours.
Noticed the bus information office right before I entered the airport, so decided to give it one more shot. By dint of sign language and my crumpled print-out, managed to let the non-English-speaking lady at the counter what I wanted. Next bus would arrive, luckily, about 20 minutes later, at 15 00 hours. So back to the platform I went. Decided to cut straight through to the platform, instead of going the smooth, circuitous route I had taken, so had to carry all my bags up and down platforms instead of roll one around behind me.
Another long wait, and during that time, passengers for my bus trickled in. They must have, cos when the bus finally motored in, there was a crowd waiting to get on. Got a pleasant surprise when I boarded. I was ready with the seven euros which my guide had designated as the fare, but the bus driver charged me 1.60 euros, and even gave me a receipt for it!
Loved the bus ride. Saw lots of greenery, and beautiful fields of flowers. After looking at the view during the journey to Cergy Prefecture, I really wonder how American and European visitors can marvel at how green Singapore is. France is so much greener and immeasurably more tranquil! I really wouldn't mind setting down roots in this wonderfully lovely country.
Getting off at the terminus jolted me back to reality. Had to find a way to get to Cergy Le Haut from Cergy Prefecture. So back to information. The train was the best, the (once-again) non-English speaking lady told me after I whipped out my much-creased, trusty map for the umpteenth time.
Bought a train ticket, and surprise surprise, boarded the wrong train. Luckily paranoid me discovered it as soon as it reached the next stop, so got off, lugged the luggage off the train, across the platform, up the lift, across a bridge, down another lift and onto the platform on the other side. Next train was, thankfully, the right one.
The hostel was supposed to be a three-minute walk away from the train station, but in which direction? My map didn't give any details, and there weren't any other maps indicating the hostel by name. No cabs around either. Back to the information counter, but they spoke no English. A nice old lady indicated that I was at the right stop, and directed me to one end of the terminal.
Wandered around the town centre for about half an hour or so, but couldn't find anything that looked like my hostel. Mostly private apartments and construction work. Tried to ask my way around again, but only managed to find an English-speaking lady after stopping about ten others. She told me to follow the road, and turn right, as she wasn't too sure where my hostel was, but only knew its general vicinity.
By then, I was pretty much running on exhuast fumes. Hadn't slept much during the flight, still jetlagged - and there I was pushing my bags down one slope and up another along the road. Had put my laptop bag on top of my luggage, and was lugging my carry-on by hand. I'm surprised all the harsh surfaces didn't ruin my wheels, but I guess that means I should buy only Satchi luggage next time. (I'm sure there'll be other next tijmes when I'm in another weight-losing situation like this.) Still, there were more than a couple of instances when I had to carry everything myself.
That was when my luggage ripped my shoe buckle off. Right in the middle of the road. Must have been so tired that I wasn't watching where I was putting my stuff. Grabbed the buckle, stuffed it into my bag, and limped the rest of the way with a loosened boot, praying that I wouldn't twist an ankle in addition to all my other troubles.Almost every step of the way, I was cursing myself from dissuading Luq, my husband, from coming with me.
First, I've not been to the bathroom since the flight to Heathrow an eternity ago - travelling alone means no helpful companion(s) to look after luggage while one answers the call of nature. Second, my luggage was heavy!! Also cursed myself from getting that carry-on last minute, which temptingly invited me to fill it with a full-size conditioner bottle and other odds and ends (if I had found a rubbish bin along the way, you can bet that my luggage would be a few bottles lighter). Had walked quite a distance before discerning a building that looked familiar. There were no signs on it, though (from where I could see), and would have turned back but for that faint spark of hope.
On and on I went. The only entrance I found was a fire escape door. Crud. Had to go around the building... By then, had almost given up hope. Luckily ran into two teenagers, who spoke English (yes! yes!) and clarified that yes, I had almost reached my goal. They were Mexican exchange students who had arrived two hours earlier, and very thankfully allowed me to go in with them instead of backtrack to the main entrance.
Got in, collected my keys, but that was not the end of it. The hostel official was probably flustered by a long day of meeting international students. There were two other students queuing behind me by the time I was done with the whole lengthy procedure of verifying identity, purchasing residential insurance, filling in forms, etc. She vaguely gestured at a staircase after passing me my keys, and there I went. Up three flights of stairs, juggling three bags all the way. Travelled along one darkened hallway, and discovered a lift - which only brought me to the fourth floor. Well enough. One level less of lugging is still a plus. The fifth floor opened into a gym. A very empty gym filled with all manner of equipment but no humanoids. By then, I can't say I was all that surprised.
Down one flight of stairs and the lift I went again. This time, I was directed to a different wing of the building, which luckily had a lift in plain sight. It stopped at the fourth floor, though, and I had to travel through two hallways before finding a stairway that led to my floor. By then, I must have seemed like a drunken sailor, almost staggering with every step. At my door finally!!
Tossed all my bags down, reached for my laptop, but there was no internet connection. Down I went again, to be told that I can only access the internet with my student ID, which was only available at the campus two train stations away.Wanted to get on skype to start calling Luq, but my odyssey had lasted almost six hours. There was no way I could have made it to school before 17 00 hours, so had to content myself with SMS-ing. Couldn't even make a long-distance call as I got a funny French announcement when I entered his number.
Anyway, 'home' at last, minus some skin off my knuckle and a buckle off my boot, but at least I didn't get robbed, raped and left in a ditch like my mum had predicted. I guess at least one doomsayer was proved wrong today.
Feels like I've gone one full circle. After becoming habituated to having Luq in bed or at least somewhere in the house while I go off to dreamland, I'm going to have to get used to sleeping alone, for a few months at least.
An anti-climatic (and somewhat depressing) end to a hectic day. I've hopped halfway across the world, landed briefly in one country and crossed yet another border all before 12 o'clock local time. And considering that the dorm is only supposed to be an hour's journey (by bus, which was the fast way) from the airport, one would assume that I'd be able to put all my stuff down and be showered before I start feeling like a sewer rat.
Just goes to show that journalism rule No. 1 still rules (and rues) my life: never assume anything. The retrieval of my delayed luggage sparked off what felt like an odyessey way before I even saw anything that looked remotely like my dorm. Deciding between the bus and train proved a Skylla and Charydbis dilemma.
I opted for the faster, more direct bus, but looking for bus 95-18 from Roissypole was not all that easy. From the map, it looked straightforward enough. Take the bus from Terminal 2D, gate 11. Walked to Terminal 2D from 2A, and sure enough, there are buses - just not the specific one that I wanted.
A very helpful young French guy who tried to interview me for a survey, but ironically was questioned by me instead, tried to help me locate my bus, which turned out to be at a different terminal. He wasn't too sure himself, though, so I ended up trundling my bags off to the information counter. Official there didn't speak English, so I resorted to showing the map on my print-out detailing instructions on how to get to the dorm. Told to take the airport train to Terminal One. Which, of course, entailed yet another walk, since I had to travel all the way to 2F, which was, not surprisingly, at the end of the terminal. Helpful French guy was really nice though. He caught up with me and tried to make sure that I did know where I was going. In fact, he had even checked and said I could take a bus there, but I decided to trust the guy at the information counter instead. Directions were in French and English, so no problems there, although my luggage got terribly scratched from the jagged edges of the escalators.
One flight of escalators and what seemed like an interminable walk later, I arrived at the bus interchange. Found my bus, but it arrives at different times everyday! Couldn't read the guide, so stood at the waiting bay (there weren't any seats) trying to keep a look-out for the bus. Must have missed the earlier bus, as other buses kept coming and going while the one I needed refused obstinately to arrive. Started getting worried after half an hour or so, as I was apparently the only one waiting for this bus!
Other passengers happily boarded the other buses arriving at my platform, and more than a few times, I was left all alone. Noticed a road sweeper clearing the leaves nearby shooting me funny looks each time the platform cleared with me holding court in solitary splendour. After the fourth or fifth time this happened, I was really worried.
Dragged my tattered dignity and all my belongings back to the airport, telling myself that I'd throw in the towel and take the train instead, even if the journey time were longer. It was only about two-plus, so I figured I'd have plenty of time to check in at my hostel before the officials closed up shop at 18 30 hours.
Noticed the bus information office right before I entered the airport, so decided to give it one more shot. By dint of sign language and my crumpled print-out, managed to let the non-English-speaking lady at the counter what I wanted. Next bus would arrive, luckily, about 20 minutes later, at 15 00 hours. So back to the platform I went. Decided to cut straight through to the platform, instead of going the smooth, circuitous route I had taken, so had to carry all my bags up and down platforms instead of roll one around behind me.
Another long wait, and during that time, passengers for my bus trickled in. They must have, cos when the bus finally motored in, there was a crowd waiting to get on. Got a pleasant surprise when I boarded. I was ready with the seven euros which my guide had designated as the fare, but the bus driver charged me 1.60 euros, and even gave me a receipt for it!
Loved the bus ride. Saw lots of greenery, and beautiful fields of flowers. After looking at the view during the journey to Cergy Prefecture, I really wonder how American and European visitors can marvel at how green Singapore is. France is so much greener and immeasurably more tranquil! I really wouldn't mind setting down roots in this wonderfully lovely country.
Getting off at the terminus jolted me back to reality. Had to find a way to get to Cergy Le Haut from Cergy Prefecture. So back to information. The train was the best, the (once-again) non-English speaking lady told me after I whipped out my much-creased, trusty map for the umpteenth time.
Bought a train ticket, and surprise surprise, boarded the wrong train. Luckily paranoid me discovered it as soon as it reached the next stop, so got off, lugged the luggage off the train, across the platform, up the lift, across a bridge, down another lift and onto the platform on the other side. Next train was, thankfully, the right one.
The hostel was supposed to be a three-minute walk away from the train station, but in which direction? My map didn't give any details, and there weren't any other maps indicating the hostel by name. No cabs around either. Back to the information counter, but they spoke no English. A nice old lady indicated that I was at the right stop, and directed me to one end of the terminal.
Wandered around the town centre for about half an hour or so, but couldn't find anything that looked like my hostel. Mostly private apartments and construction work. Tried to ask my way around again, but only managed to find an English-speaking lady after stopping about ten others. She told me to follow the road, and turn right, as she wasn't too sure where my hostel was, but only knew its general vicinity.
By then, I was pretty much running on exhuast fumes. Hadn't slept much during the flight, still jetlagged - and there I was pushing my bags down one slope and up another along the road. Had put my laptop bag on top of my luggage, and was lugging my carry-on by hand. I'm surprised all the harsh surfaces didn't ruin my wheels, but I guess that means I should buy only Satchi luggage next time. (I'm sure there'll be other next tijmes when I'm in another weight-losing situation like this.) Still, there were more than a couple of instances when I had to carry everything myself.
That was when my luggage ripped my shoe buckle off. Right in the middle of the road. Must have been so tired that I wasn't watching where I was putting my stuff. Grabbed the buckle, stuffed it into my bag, and limped the rest of the way with a loosened boot, praying that I wouldn't twist an ankle in addition to all my other troubles.Almost every step of the way, I was cursing myself from dissuading Luq, my husband, from coming with me.
First, I've not been to the bathroom since the flight to Heathrow an eternity ago - travelling alone means no helpful companion(s) to look after luggage while one answers the call of nature. Second, my luggage was heavy!! Also cursed myself from getting that carry-on last minute, which temptingly invited me to fill it with a full-size conditioner bottle and other odds and ends (if I had found a rubbish bin along the way, you can bet that my luggage would be a few bottles lighter). Had walked quite a distance before discerning a building that looked familiar. There were no signs on it, though (from where I could see), and would have turned back but for that faint spark of hope.
On and on I went. The only entrance I found was a fire escape door. Crud. Had to go around the building... By then, had almost given up hope. Luckily ran into two teenagers, who spoke English (yes! yes!) and clarified that yes, I had almost reached my goal. They were Mexican exchange students who had arrived two hours earlier, and very thankfully allowed me to go in with them instead of backtrack to the main entrance.
Got in, collected my keys, but that was not the end of it. The hostel official was probably flustered by a long day of meeting international students. There were two other students queuing behind me by the time I was done with the whole lengthy procedure of verifying identity, purchasing residential insurance, filling in forms, etc. She vaguely gestured at a staircase after passing me my keys, and there I went. Up three flights of stairs, juggling three bags all the way. Travelled along one darkened hallway, and discovered a lift - which only brought me to the fourth floor. Well enough. One level less of lugging is still a plus. The fifth floor opened into a gym. A very empty gym filled with all manner of equipment but no humanoids. By then, I can't say I was all that surprised.
Down one flight of stairs and the lift I went again. This time, I was directed to a different wing of the building, which luckily had a lift in plain sight. It stopped at the fourth floor, though, and I had to travel through two hallways before finding a stairway that led to my floor. By then, I must have seemed like a drunken sailor, almost staggering with every step. At my door finally!!
Tossed all my bags down, reached for my laptop, but there was no internet connection. Down I went again, to be told that I can only access the internet with my student ID, which was only available at the campus two train stations away.Wanted to get on skype to start calling Luq, but my odyssey had lasted almost six hours. There was no way I could have made it to school before 17 00 hours, so had to content myself with SMS-ing. Couldn't even make a long-distance call as I got a funny French announcement when I entered his number.
Anyway, 'home' at last, minus some skin off my knuckle and a buckle off my boot, but at least I didn't get robbed, raped and left in a ditch like my mum had predicted. I guess at least one doomsayer was proved wrong today.
In transit
12 00 Paris Time
Whew. What a rush trying to catch my connection on time. An hour in between two different flights might have been too ambitious even for me. Spent the entire time rushing from one terminal to another aboard their shuttle buses. Didn't even have time to do some shopping, although I did take my time to ogle the more interesting items on sale. Burberry had really nice boots, but I'm digressing here.
Got to my departure hall on time, but everyone was just sitting around after that. Took some photos, but was a little bored. Since the gate was still not open, decided to grab a sandwich at Pret a Manger, which was right beside the waiting area. All the sandwiches looked good, but picked up a wild crayfish sandwich with rocket salad and lime mayo for 2.99 euros. Yum...
Gate opened for boarding as I was paying, so had no time to devour it. Brought it onto the plane. Didn't realise how famished I really was until I started eating. Gobbled it all down in between taking off and the snack served in-flight. Had an orange juice, but passed on the hotdog, which was packed with some bacon. Noticed the passenger beside me took out all hers and laid it neatly back on the packaging. Had some orange juice, though.
This time, I was on the aisle so I could crane my neck and look out the windows. Paris looks really neat by air, all regular squares and rectangles. Still, wouldn't recommend anyone take this flight. Seats were small and cramped, and the plane smelled of old plastic. Got a headache just from breathing in the recycled air, but thankfully it was a short 1.5 hour flight. Was relieved to get off, but one of my two bags was delayed. They offered to mail it to me, but I'm waiting for it, since it's just an hour.
Whew. What a rush trying to catch my connection on time. An hour in between two different flights might have been too ambitious even for me. Spent the entire time rushing from one terminal to another aboard their shuttle buses. Didn't even have time to do some shopping, although I did take my time to ogle the more interesting items on sale. Burberry had really nice boots, but I'm digressing here.
Got to my departure hall on time, but everyone was just sitting around after that. Took some photos, but was a little bored. Since the gate was still not open, decided to grab a sandwich at Pret a Manger, which was right beside the waiting area. All the sandwiches looked good, but picked up a wild crayfish sandwich with rocket salad and lime mayo for 2.99 euros. Yum...
Gate opened for boarding as I was paying, so had no time to devour it. Brought it onto the plane. Didn't realise how famished I really was until I started eating. Gobbled it all down in between taking off and the snack served in-flight. Had an orange juice, but passed on the hotdog, which was packed with some bacon. Noticed the passenger beside me took out all hers and laid it neatly back on the packaging. Had some orange juice, though.
This time, I was on the aisle so I could crane my neck and look out the windows. Paris looks really neat by air, all regular squares and rectangles. Still, wouldn't recommend anyone take this flight. Seats were small and cramped, and the plane smelled of old plastic. Got a headache just from breathing in the recycled air, but thankfully it was a short 1.5 hour flight. Was relieved to get off, but one of my two bags was delayed. They offered to mail it to me, but I'm waiting for it, since it's just an hour.
Off to France!
07 25 hrs London time
Finally got off the plane after a butt-punishing 14-odd hours. The flight wasn't too bad, actually. Got a complimentary upgrade to Premium Economy courtesy of Qantas Airlines, and I have to admit, these seats are way more comfortable than the ones I had actually paid for: i.e. economy. A new class of seats offered by Qantas, Premium Economy seems to be their way of placating customers who don't wish/can't afford to pay Business/First Class prices, but wouldn't mind spending a little more for just a tad more comfort. As promised, the seats had more leg room than Economy seats - a luxury that might be said to be wasted on my short girth. Couldn't budge my leg rest, so ended up sliding down the seat and pulling myself back up for most of the night.
Think I might have carpet burn from all that friction, but I guess that's not the usual flight hazard.And if I needed compensation for the extremely slight discomfort which might have been incurred just about anywhere else, really, the yummilicious flight attendants more than made up for it (fine, I'm exaggerating). The air stewardesses are OK, but Qantas (at least on the Singapore-London route) has some of the best-looking air stewards around. Real eye candy for the ladies.
Served supper about two hours into the flight. Chose fish over beef, and got breaded fish with hor fun, which I had to eat with a plastic knife and fork. Well, there's always a first time for everything. The food right at the top was pretty good, but everything below mid-level was plasticky and chewy. The hor fun was hard at the edges. Was seated in the middle of the plane, the second of four in a row. Totally hemmed in, so had to disturb my fellow passenger on the aisle each time I went to the bathroom. Was hoping for a view of the night sky, but mine was the red-eye, and every passenger obediently closed the shutters for the duration of the flight.
Sigh.Couldn't really sleep. Was quite restless. Read, tried to sleep, woke up... The sequence kept repeating itself. Two hours before landing, I decided to check out the in-flight entertainment system. Pretty cool. Relatively big screen which you pull out from your handle bar. Watched Ironman.Was served a breakfast of omelette with mushrooms shortly after. Really hungry by then, since I didn't have much the day before. Tucked into my food with gusto, but lost all appetite after discovering that what I had taken for some sort of soggy bread was actually some unidentied bacon. Ew.
Landing was quite smooth, but Heathrow is HUGE!
Finally got off the plane after a butt-punishing 14-odd hours. The flight wasn't too bad, actually. Got a complimentary upgrade to Premium Economy courtesy of Qantas Airlines, and I have to admit, these seats are way more comfortable than the ones I had actually paid for: i.e. economy. A new class of seats offered by Qantas, Premium Economy seems to be their way of placating customers who don't wish/can't afford to pay Business/First Class prices, but wouldn't mind spending a little more for just a tad more comfort. As promised, the seats had more leg room than Economy seats - a luxury that might be said to be wasted on my short girth. Couldn't budge my leg rest, so ended up sliding down the seat and pulling myself back up for most of the night.
Think I might have carpet burn from all that friction, but I guess that's not the usual flight hazard.And if I needed compensation for the extremely slight discomfort which might have been incurred just about anywhere else, really, the yummilicious flight attendants more than made up for it (fine, I'm exaggerating). The air stewardesses are OK, but Qantas (at least on the Singapore-London route) has some of the best-looking air stewards around. Real eye candy for the ladies.
Served supper about two hours into the flight. Chose fish over beef, and got breaded fish with hor fun, which I had to eat with a plastic knife and fork. Well, there's always a first time for everything. The food right at the top was pretty good, but everything below mid-level was plasticky and chewy. The hor fun was hard at the edges. Was seated in the middle of the plane, the second of four in a row. Totally hemmed in, so had to disturb my fellow passenger on the aisle each time I went to the bathroom. Was hoping for a view of the night sky, but mine was the red-eye, and every passenger obediently closed the shutters for the duration of the flight.
Sigh.Couldn't really sleep. Was quite restless. Read, tried to sleep, woke up... The sequence kept repeating itself. Two hours before landing, I decided to check out the in-flight entertainment system. Pretty cool. Relatively big screen which you pull out from your handle bar. Watched Ironman.Was served a breakfast of omelette with mushrooms shortly after. Really hungry by then, since I didn't have much the day before. Tucked into my food with gusto, but lost all appetite after discovering that what I had taken for some sort of soggy bread was actually some unidentied bacon. Ew.
Landing was quite smooth, but Heathrow is HUGE!
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