Fire in the dorm!

Passed my absolute worst night here in France yesterday. I keep thinking I've hit the bottom, but it seems that I was merely plumbing the depths all this while.

First, the train service broke down in the morning - the train drivers were on strike, protesting the uncouth and violent behaviour of commuters on the Cergy-Paris route. This persisted until night, so those of us with only morning classes were stranded until the school bus could ferry us back to the dorm at 4.30pm.

This wasn't so bad. It was a waste of time, but I filled in the intervening four and a half hours chatting with Luq, and searching for a fab new jacket online. Saw a few possibilities, but neh.

Got back to the dorm at five, and continued chatting. Had narrowed my jacket down to one finalist, and was happily making my purchase online when I smelled smoke. Thought it was someone's dinner burning, or some idiot smoking under my window, so totally ignored it.

Next thing I knew (which was quite a bit later, since setting up my account was quite a time-consuming task), the sounds of a raucous alarm was ringing in my ears. Looked out of the window, thinking it was a police car, but it wasn't. Dismissed it as someone's overly loud movie. Tuned it (and the sound of running footsteps too, I think) out for quite a while, but when it got beyond irritating and annoying to migraine-inducing (plus I had concluded my purchase at last), I decided to investigate. Put some shoes on (minus socks), grabbed my phone, wallet & almost took my laptop as well, but thought it was overkill for an apparent fire drill.

Went downstairs, passing a fireman at the same time, and was greeted by billowing inky black smoke. Walked towards the people clustered at one end of the grounds, to discover most of them had been lured downstairs by the strident call of the alarm half an hour earlier, while I was still oblivious.

Apparently, two cars had exploded in the parking garage downstairs (cause currently unknown), and sparked an electrical fire. All power and heating were subsequently gone.

I wasn't the latest one, though. Some of my classmates were asleep, and came downstairs after persistent wake-up calls. Amazing how they managed to sleep through all that noise. Others had to be coaxed down by firemen later, while we were being evacuated. Even heard of this case where a guy had hidden himself in the pull-out truckle bed case under the mattress, and had to be 'rescued'. Serious!

But we were a real sight. Some of us were wearing jackets pulled hastily over jammies, complete with bedroom slippers, while others coming from school or elsewhere were fully dressed, with all sorts of mixtures in between. There were even some poor souls wearing shorts or socks in the cold!

Then, it became a waiting game. We were moved from one spot to another, outdoors to indoors, from 7-plus in the evening all the way until we were eventually relocated to the school premises close to 11. There were no seats, but thankfully the boutique staff distributed free bottled water after a while, so we could ease our parched throats. Kept getting hungrier and hungrier, though, but managed to solve that by teaming with a group of other students to order pizza. Have admit it was the first time I had to tear pizza into uneven slices barehanded, sitting on the floor and eating in the dark, but it was delicious! From a philosophic viewpoint, it would be more about life affirmation than food, but to my tummy, food was the all-important manna.

The amphitheatre was transformed into a temporary refugee camp once we arrived. Blankets were handed out about an hour or so later, and we tried to go to bed after listening to the firemen's updated announcements at 12-odd. Some tried to sleep in the faux-airlines seats, others spread out on the floor, all trying to settle in since school still had to go on the next day.

Others went into a post-fire celebratory swing, opting for dance and booze in the student pub till the wee hours. Nothing wrong with that, I guess, only that some of the sodden revellers woke us up later on with their incessant giggling and drunken antics. Argh! They made such a nuisance of themselves that the guard had to ask them to respect those who were trying to sleep. Not much help, though, until the students yelled at them. One line I liked was, "Shut up or get out" *cheers*

*Sigh* It's the next day now, but things still don't look good. Last night, they said some students MIGHT be allowed back in their rooms tonight, they HOPE, but the latest update is that we're all going to have to spend another night here. *Bigger sigh*

Terror on the Highways

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!

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!

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 =(

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.

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!

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!

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!