La Vie Niçoise

I'll keep blogging. But not here.

2006-09-17T23:08:00.000-07:00

http://thepetitegeek.blogspot.com

Yeah, I added a "the". I'm going to keep La Vie Nicoise as its own separate special entity. For further updates on me (it's all for you, Omar) please update your bookmarks.

Go to The Petite Geek's blog.

Back in Vancouver (a.k.a. "That's all, folks")

2006-08-21T10:22:00.000-07:00

Well, I guess I should just admit it. This blog is over. I was re-reading some posts from January, and wow, was I on fire! But alas, I'm just so incredibly tired and culture-shocked from the last two months of travelling, that you couldn't squeeze good material outta me even if you rolled me up like a Colgate tube.

As a last word, however, I can say that my life is so sparkly and cavity-free shiny that I don't know what to do with myself. I'll be sticking around Vancouver longer than I'd thought (for the semester), but the plan is to head back to France in January, following which I will drag a certain special person back to The Homeland and stay put for the forseeable future.

Adieu, fair readers, I hope you enjoyed following my awkward and embarassing adventures as petitegeek de Nice. Now, call me so we can go for bubble tea!

Not bombed yet!

2006-07-21T07:07:00.000-07:00

Pictures up.

Israel at war

2006-07-14T12:50:00.000-07:00

I guess I got lucky with my timing, hey?

Well, don't worry. I'm well away from the Israel-Lebanon border, in the Holy City of Jerusalem. I've cancelled my plans to Haifa (luckily, since it just got bombed) and the Sea of Galilee. See? I'm playing it safe.

It also could be worse. Take Mattias, the super-nice gay pennsylvanian whose family owns a well-known hotel in Nice. Also my knowledgable Jerusalem-discovery companion for the day. He was working in Beirut for the last 6 months, and just happened to take a trip here for the week, where meanwhile his town was being bombarded with missiles from Israel. Now, with an israeli stamp in his passport, it's impossible for him to get back to his stuff in Beirut (forget about the whole Beirut airport terminal being demolished thing). Now he's kinda stuck. So really, it could be worse!

Jerusalem's Old City is magnificent. From the rooftop terrace of my hostel, I can watch the sunset over a view of the Mount of Olives and the beautiful golden Dome of the Mount. Sunday, I'm heading south to a desert town where I'm gonna try to score a camel ride.

This is the most unorganized I've ever been, but it's caused me to talk to everyone I meet. Traveller's are always happy to share information. Other must-do's:

- hike up for sunrise on the hills of Masada
- go to the spa at Ein-Gedi for a Dead Sea mud bath and a float in the famously mineral-laden water
- sleep in a bedouin tent

The last one will be the most challenging, but nothing's impossible eh!

Transition

2006-07-11T09:27:00.000-07:00

It's all been such a blur.

Sadly, I've been enjoying myself much too much to have the time to blog.
Happily, I've been enjoying myself MUCH too much.

From watching the beautiful, amber mediterranean sunset that made Cafe Del Mar famous, to experiencing the dangers of firecracker-happy spanish children in Barcelona, to breaking open and tasting fresh sea urchins off the rocky beaches of Corsica, to going from falling-into-the-street-bike-hopeless to biking down 100km/h highways..."night swimming"....

... to celebrating a FIFA Cup German victory over Argentina at the Berlin airport (german adults can get surprisingly fiesty), to jumping for joy with singing, insane Italian kids in front of St. Francis Basilica at midnight (post-semis in Assisi), to watching full grown Italian men happily falling to the ground in a joyous hugfest in the dirt of Circus Maximus (Rome, the night of the finale).

--

This morning I said a teary goodbye to Kenzo as he entered the gates at Rome's Fiumicino airport. The guy at the desk tossed me a concerned "Oh don't cry!" as I waved through the security glass. But today's goodbye wasn't the goodbye I had expected when I first told myself "Why not".

This morning we didn't say au revoir, we said "A plus tard".

For those of you who don't know, I'm going back to work in Nice, France for another several months till Kenzo finishes his degree and comes to Canada.

However, I will be back in Vancouver on August 19 for a couple months before I fly back.

Yeah, this stuff happens, eh?

I'll probbly get more chances to post while I'm travelling by myself the next 2 weeks. Today I landed in Cyprus and got a ride from a kindly old Cyprusian(??) man to downtown and the warm beach. He got in a couple good firm pats on my thigh before I said "Hey that looks neat! Thanks!" and got out. Nice man anyway, though seeing the durex box in his glove compartment disturbed me some.

Walking alone in Nice = seeing the good in people

2006-05-24T15:12:00.000-07:00

Funny how even after 9 months living in France, I still come off as the poor lost foreigner, unwittingly attracting the concern of French people, young and old alike!

No, I'm not talking about me promenay'ing in bad quartiers and getting the oh-so-tired "Vous-etes etudiante?" or "Hello, what is your name?" (that's right, English. Dammit, I can speak this country's language, alright?!)

Instead, today I must have looked exceptionally lost in Carrefour's legumes section, 'cause 3 (THREE!) older french people gave me advice, even to the point of physically stopping me from getting the expensive bag of onions. (Mais pourquoi vous prenez ca?)

Yup, I'm hopeless.

After finishing mes courses (grocery shopping) at 21:30, I lugged my 15 kilos of stuff 10 mins to the bus stop. Whew! Thank goodness for public transit...and I then realised that buses stop at 20:05.

As my friends would say, je me suis fait OOON-ed. 1,5 kilometre walk home with all my groceries in hand, great. I trudged home, using the occasion to work my biceps by lifting them as I walked. I'd been getting pudgy anyway. Then I hear a low voice to my right: "Un coup de main?" (Want a hand?)

I looked over, and, not to be stereotypical or anything, but it was a 25-ish african dude with an earring... Now, you have to understand; night had already fallen and I've become used to ignoring comments from men on the street unless they're old or cute. So I said

"Non c'est bon, merci." (No it's ok, thanks)
- "T'es sure?" (You sure?)

He actually looked rather friendly (ie. lacking that look of 'hey baby' blood-hungryness), so I handed over two bags, relieved, and now expecting to have the usual "Where are you from, are you a student" conversation.

But nope, apart from asking which way I was going, silence!

Just a guy wanting to help out, and nothing more. Brilliant. :)

Don't play with knives

2006-05-23T14:15:00.000-07:00

I cut myself today.

I know what you're thinking... Angelica, that's what you GET when you don't blog anymore. Fine, so I was trying to slice a chorizo with Kenzo's newly sharpened japanese knife, missed, and cut my thumb.

Now, I've never experienced a fainting spell or unconsciousness, but as I bent over the sink with my thumb under running water, BOOM. Blackness closing in, dizzyness... I even lost my hearing for a few minutes. Weird.

Anyhoo, this is me jumping for joy that I'm now officially DONE. Summer!!!!!!

Yours truly,
Angelica

Who needs details?

2006-05-16T19:40:00.000-07:00

There once was a geek named Angelica. She went to France, wrote some code, got a tan, and met Prince Charming.

They coded together, and when that was over, they went to the beach to tan some more.

They are currently living happily ever after.

The End.

The True North. Strong. And free.

2006-04-25T14:25:00.000-07:00

Who *doesn't* want to go to Canada?

Every day I just meet more and more french people wanting to study/live/move to Canada, our home and native land.

Canada: recruiting YOU.

Seriously, there was even un reportage on TV that gave stats on French people responding to the question:

"Dans quel pays desirez-vous habiter?"
(In which country would you like to live?)

The percentage responding "Canada" was, yup, higher than the percentage of french people choosing France, their own country.

Sure, I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side. But when you've got pas mal (a lot) of people living in the freaking French Riviera in all its sunny, beachy glory who want to get the hell outta here and move to Canada, it makes you stop and think.

What is so great about Canada? Sure, lots of things, including friendly people, a good economy, beautiful environment, stability and lack of terrorism... poutine... baby phoque (seal)...

When I get back, I'm going to revel in Canada's glory. Also, visit all the french people who I met here and moved over :)

fait chier...

2006-04-23T06:21:00.000-07:00

I am so talented.

Even with 7 months of intensive french culinary training, I still manage to ruin 2 cakes in succession, where cake recipe instructions consist of "Melanger les ingredients. Mettre-le au four." (Mix ingredients, put in oven). Ca rox, comme Alexandre dit.

In other news, my parents will be getting a shock on their next American Express bill. I just bought plane/train tickets for 4 different trips.

1) Nice -> Paris This Wednesday I'm heading up to Paris again (with finals next week, what am I thinking!?).
2) Nice -> Paris (again) 29.00 euro Easyjet flight in August with my family
3) London -> Vancouver Yes, I am coming home eventually :) August 19 is the day, 11 months and 7 days after my departure
4) Rome -> Tel Aviv

That's right, this July I'm heading to the happiest place on earth -- Jerusalem!

I'm starting to notice a trend

2006-04-17T13:33:00.000-07:00

Are all these sauces really that exotic? First it was sweet and sour sauce, now salsa!

[MEXICAN SAUCE]

Bizarre, ces francais...

Je me suis fait bouffée :(

2006-04-16T12:13:00.000-07:00

I got eaten. Devoured. Bouffée by the french riviera's finest fleet of mosquitoes ever witnessed on this side of the Atlantic. Eight bites, just on my right shoulder, and freaking 7 on the right side of my FACE. Plus another uncountable set of red dots everywhere else.

I guess I'll have to start sleeping on my other side to even out the carnage.

Grraaaarrrr!

En garde, reality!

2006-04-09T05:26:00.000-07:00

The day started out so beautifully.

It was like being on Cloud 9, where cloud inhabitants included penguins, harbour seals, and Great White Sharks. The sea lions basked in the sun with their mouths hanging open, while two slick black seals clapped their nageoires and barked at each other in angry standoffs. I think they were a husband and wife, bickering.

We saw the dauphins, les orques, and ate yummy MaxiBon icecream bars. The only glitch was me not seeing the Junior Kids meal on the menu before ordering my regular nuggets and fries. I got mad at myself for that.

Yeah Marineland, Antibes was the shizzle. The bliss, the high, had ridden to a climax yesterday, after a week-long buildup. I hadn't a care in the world. Me, Kenzo and Brian skipped rocks in the Mediterranean to kill time. Brian found me a cool rock to take back. It was dark with white markings. I think I'll name it Orquie, after Shamu's cousins who we'd encountered that day.

Unfortunately, I think I pulled an Icarus and flew so high up, the sun started to melt my means of transportation. Cloud Nine went crashing down, down, and hit the basement with force. And just when I thought I could climb back up to Cloud One again, an SNCF Regional train appeared out of nowhere and smacked me back into reality.

Rez-de-chaussée. I suppose I'll get off here. I don't know if I can ever get back up, and certainly not as fast as before. It's the stairs for me this time.

I better keep taking my fish oil.

8h30 - Vancouver, 17h30 - Nice

2006-04-07T11:38:00.000-07:00

Video conference is awesome! Just played hangman with Silumesii on the other size of the world. The word was "chien". I also made a grand fool out of myself answering his opening question,

-"If you were a planet, which one would you be and why?".
-"Uh, Pluto. 'Cause it's small. And I'm small."

I hope he doesn't put that in the promo video.

It was weird trying to speak in English. The french use a different phrase structure, such that I would say stuff like, " You went where?" which sounds perfectly fine in French when translated word for word. ("Tu es allé ou?")

Also, Brian de Nice is the most gorgeous guy in Nice; I do not know why he is still single. Venez nombreuses, les filles, avant qu'il soit trop tard!

But girl Happy Meals get nice stationary!

2006-04-06T15:48:00.001-07:00

So I went to the local McDo for my usual 4 euro Happy Meal, and two things surprised me.

1. I got the boy toy.

[too lazy to take picture]

OK, so granted, a Sonic and Tails electronic handheld shooting game is pretty damn cool. I mean, if it were a Hot Wheels racecar, I'd be pretty distraught and demand they recognize my (presumably) obvious feminine features to get the girl toy instead. But Tails is just so awesome. Amazing what McDonald's Technology is coming up with these days.

2. You can't get Sweet and Sour Sauce for your McNuggets. Desole, on n'a que (I'm sorry, all we have is),

[CLASSIC CHINESE SAUCE]

(Yeah. It's the same sauce.)

To flemmards, thank you.

2006-04-04T12:04:00.000-07:00

It's nonsensical, illogical, crazy, even.

I have 3 weeks left of class. After exams, I'll be leaving the city I've called home for the last 7 months. That's seven months of growing relationships with classmates and friends. Seven months of creating a new life, with new people. Some of them even french! :O

You can probably guess which one of these people has grown the closest to my heart. Someone who I'd gotten to know by chance because some professor took a long lunch break on September 14, 2005. That was the afternoon I'd stepped into the Dept Informatique, completely oblivious to the fact that at 1:30pm, all offices are empty, cafes full, because it's dejeuner time, dammit! Kenji however, was waiting around because he had an appointment with Prof X, apparently a real flemmard (lazy bugger). It was there we got talking, and he found out I was in 3rd year Licence Informatique.

Just like his brother.

The following week, a fellow strikingly similar-looking to Kenji introduced himself to me on the first day of class. "Tu es la canadienne, non?" It was amazing how much we had in common, Kenji's brother and I, in actions, values, personalities (although I had a lot to learn about French food)

Fast-forward through months of being such close friends that "Mais vous habitez ensemble?" was asked of us more than once. Being more than friends? Yeah it crossed our minds, but complications, see...

Then it really hit me, Sunday morning at 1am. We'd just watched Love, Actually at Linda's place. Great movie, it's about the agony of being in love with someone you couldn't have. The worst thing is to stay silent and watch as the opportunity passes by you. As you writhe in pain. Then, the regret afterward. You can't change the past!

For my sanity, I really needed to do something. Be Honest, first and foremost.

So I was honest. And with only 1.5 months left, our resulting decision may not be the wisest. But dang. I'm happy. Really, finally, happy.

Happy

2006-04-04T03:31:00.000-07:00

Really, finally, happy.

Shoo.

2006-03-29T12:49:00.000-08:00

I would just like to say...

I don't WANT to blog. You can't make me, je suis en GREVE. Freaking capitalists. I'm going to join the rest of France as we domino-effect our way to a general strike. Down with CPE! Down with blogging! Down with people *cough*Noah*cough* taking my weekly dosage of Scrubs for ransom! Strike strike strike! Vive le Quebec libre!

I'm with these guys:

Anyway, I haven't been blogging because I'd been feeling particularly crap-tacular the last couple weeks. It's one of those personal things I probably shouldn't post to the world, although if you've talked to me lately, you probably know why I've just been so darn sad.

I'm slightly happier now, though. I hope it's not just because of my favourite weather again. As soon as it stops being windy and sunny, I just might crawl into bed, never to be seen again.

Too bad I haven't been blogging, too. Lots of rather particularly interesting moments took place, including kidnapping Kenzo for his birthday, running into protesters, and randomly taking a bus an hour out of town to sit on a hilltop city and ponder modern art for the sake of saving 9 euros. Sigh, I'm just not motivated. Go look at the pictures, shoo.

I just need time to HEAL, people. When and if that time comes, you will have your blogs. For now, OMG THERE'S ONLY 1.5 MORE MONTHS LEFT OF SCHOOL. And my sejour in France will be coming to an end... Freaking about time. Spent about half of it being depressed.

Can't think. Let's blog instead!

2006-03-15T07:17:00.000-08:00

In the name of procrastination! I give you
my favourite colour (above). It's the bottom one.

Last weekend was pretty interesting.

Randomly went for a 6 hour hike to find the observatory, and finally found it at dusk. It was closed. But hell, after a whole day's journey, you don't just walk away, defeated. Kenzo and I used our ninja-like wall-scaling skillz and found those freaking coupoles, sans incident. The view was quite nice, but the last bus down was at 7h45, so no star gazing, unfortunately.

Sunday, I happened upon a canadian girl on the way back from church. She was looking for her hostel, which turned out to be 2 blocks from my place. She was travelling alone, and had no plans, and was really nice and friendly, so we went to the beach!

And now I have to focus on school again?? Damn this fine weather ;)

The Sacred Practice of Jogging in Winter

2006-03-08T05:06:00.000-08:00

Went for a jog this morning on the promenade. I've been trying to keep up my New Year's resolution to do some cardio at least 3 times a week... two months later, I figure once a week is pretty good too.

I actually take my jogs as an opportunity to visit my favourite colour. I've only ever seen her in two places in the world - actually, three.

The first time was in Austria in 1999, as my family drove along a high, winding mountain road and spotted a crystal lake glistening in the sunlight. Blue. No, green. Not quite that gaudy turquoise... it's hard to explain. The second time was in a Ben Moss jewellery flyer, in a beautiful gemstone embedded in a gold ring. I'd excitedly showed my favourite colour to Jimi, although by the look on his face, I think he took it wrong and thought I was hinting at engagement. Oops.

The third time was here in Nice, when I wasn't feeling to hot but decided to go for a jog to clear my thoughts. The waves were high that day as I approached the seawall. The lighting was perfect, the water just right. And then I saw my favourite colour again! It's like seeing an old friend again! Wow! Unfortunately the conditions have to be just right, so she's not always there when I pass by on the promenade. But I always look.

Afterwards, I turn my attention to the people I jog by. This morning, I was delighted to see an older, Polonaise-looking woman and partner walking peacefully down the boardwalk. The woman had the most pleasant look on her face, with happy eyes wrinkling at the corners, and a upturned yet reserved smile. You don't see that often in Nice, I thought to myself. People here are usually so grumpy! But maybe the whole "Nice people aren't very nice" thing isn't that true, after all! And I continued jogging.

It was only till I reached my landmark and turned around to jog back that I realized why she looked so happy.

Actually, the sun was glaring in the other direction so harshly, you couldn't help but squint. Which actually pulls up your cheek muscles, producing a FAKE SMILE.

But then a construction worker taking down the Carnaval tribunes waved at me and said Bonjour. That's nice.

Flattered

2006-03-04T00:03:00.000-08:00

David Amar is this amazing jazz saxophonist who plays regularly in the Nice music scene, either in various combos or with his spectacular trio Sashird Lao. He can imitate a string bass précisément with his vocal cords and doubles on flute traversiere and a billion other instruments.

He also is the chef (leader) of the University of Nice Jazz Ensemble, which I joined a couple months ago.

And last Monday, he got my number so I could give HIM some lessons on flute sound quality.

*fans self frantically* What the hell do I know??
can't stop thinking about...

Good 'ol research lab convivialité

2006-03-03T23:15:00.000-08:00

can't stop thinking about...
Yesterday was my first day at I3S, the research lab "Informatique Signaux et Systemes de Sophia Antipolis" out in Sophia Antipolis. Now Sophia Antipolis, the "Silicon Valley of the French Riviera" is a good 45 minute bus ride away, but we're talkin' coach-class comfy seats with those little elastic mesh pockets on the seat back in front of you to hold your water bottle. The stop bell is overhead, so it feels like you're calling the stewardess each time you approach your stop. Ding!
can't stop thinking about...

So why the heck am I out in the land of valleys and hills? Well, I suppose I need to backtrack a little.

The 3rd year Computing Science program I'm taking requires a semester-long research project. There are various topics you can choose, from comparing the unix environments Gnome to KDE, to reporting on the state of the art in Bioinformatics, to PARTICIPATING IN A EUROPE-WIDE AUTONOMOUS UNDERWATER ROBOT COMPETITION. (btw the competition site is down)

Hel-lo, no brainer.

My part would be creating supporting software to guide the robot. The only thing is, there's 9 (nine!) students from my class working on the logiciel, which makes for an organizational nightmare. Plus, all the students are at la fac (university campus at nice), not all working together 45 minutes away with the team leaders at the research lab. Quelle horreur!

So, I took it upon myself to invade the salle de stagieres a couple times a week at the research lab and keep up the ties between Joao, the amazing computer engineering prof who's dedicated her life to underwater research like SAM, and Laure, the doctorate student who has the unfortunate task of being project manager to 5 teams of a gazillion students from 4 different programs.
cant stop thinking about...

By the way, I always wondered what french people do with their 2 hour lunch breaks. Yesterday I found out. First, you eat at the Resto Universitaire (45 minutes). Then you trek back to the lab, grab some coffees, and seat yourself in the common area couches and chat. I had the oddest feeling of familiarity... oh yes wait! It's like the CSSS Common room, but without the laptops, and cappucino instead of Frutopia!

My goodness, I'm home. :)
can't stop thinking about...

Hurts

2006-02-28T19:45:00.000-08:00

So. This is really hard. Painful. Killing me softly, even. But I should really stick to it this time.

Sometimes I just feel like I should leave, far far away. Then maybe it'd be easier for everyone. 6 months left. I don't know if I can do it.

Or, I find another solution. I'm a computing scientist, I'm a problem solver! Unfortunately problems of this genre are often NP-complete...

Parting is such sweet sorrow

2006-02-26T12:11:00.000-08:00

Today I had to say goodbye to the first friend I made in Nice. Kati was my roommate, the other new girl who arrived in October from Germany, but spoke perfect English.

Remember? Me spewing english after having been fed up with constant french? She was the one who spent the afternoon with me and relieved the pressure of my about-to-explode frenchy head.

I remember spending a Saturday brunch out on Sabrina's balcony in the sun. We chatted about her relationship with her parents - they were her close friends she told everything to... wait, talking? With parents? About something other than where to get picked up afterschool? Unheard of in Chinese culture! I told her.

She'd always been so thoughtful. When I'd stay out late, she text me in vain, trying to figure out if I was ok. Of course I was, she just didn't realize yet how my phone could blow up in my bag and still probably wouldn't notice.

I have a picture of us teary-eyed yet still eternally smiling for the camera (she and I are smilers) from our 9am good-bye. Instead of exposing our puffy faces to the world, I instead prefer to remember last night (picture above). Swell pizzeria on the Cour Saleya, where we'd eaten yummy crepes outside one January afternoon. We'd sat down in the sunshine, and the waiter told us that if we were going to have more than a coffee, we'd need to move into the covered, un-sunny area. She said no. And that was that. I love that girl!

BTW, last night was freaking cold, but luckily I had with me the fantabulous soft, white scarf that Denise had knitted for me for my birthday. Everyone complimented me on it, thanks Denise!!

Cliché Mastercard Recap

2006-02-18T01:42:00.000-08:00

Been having a ball this past week, and now to start our weeklong vacation! ... after skipping 5 days of school...

Now to do an oh-so-cliché MC summary, mostly 'cause it'll help me figure out how much money I just dropped. Was it worth it? Let's find out.

Torino Winter Olympics 2006

6 Canadian flags and face sticker: $5 CAD
Aller-retour train tickets: 34 euros
Public bus transportation: 90 cents
1 night bed and breakfast: 30 euros
Canada vs. Germany hockey ticket: 40 euros
Souvenirs for friends: 85 euros
Dried italian pasta for me: 4 euros
2 mugs of ciocolatta calda: 8 euros
Other food (kebabs, chinese, pasta): 35 euros

.... whereas,

Making friends with a Canadian girl with the same MEC backpack as me, and finding out she's from Nice too (flag 1)
Staying with a nice Filipino family I'd never met before
Teaching English to Italian-speaking children by playing the what's your favourite colour/number/month game
Learning that Ciao! means goodbye AND hello
Shaking the hand of a small round italian man who had spouted incomprehensible italian till I understood he wanted my flag (flag 2)
Discovering the "squat toilets" at the Porta Susa train station
Getting a picture with a giant, dancing Coca Cola polar bear
Getting a picture with Igor and John at Fontana Angelica
Feeling canada pride, noticing that it was the only country consistently touting their flag on the streets (U.S... yeah, not so much)
Climbing through holes in olympic security fences
Unexpectedly getting a cool official olympic poster from a turin girl ("Do you know where I can buy one of those flags?" - "No, sorry, I don't..." *hand her a flag*) (flag 5)
Absent-mindedly holding out my flag while waiting for a bus, and getting 3 cars honking in Canada support!
Playing toy trucks with the insanely cute Julio, the 19 month-old cuban-italian baby at the B&B
Finding the al bicerin cafe with the help of a local (flag 6)
Gianduitto chocolate orgasms in my mouth
Hearing a "Demande les japonais la de prendre un photo" (Ask those japanese people to take a picture), and getting shocked looks as we turned around and offered our services in french
Feeling fresh gusts of wind on my face as I walk down a cobble-stone street, enjoying the view of snow-capped mountains peeking out between rows of buildings
The best peach iced tea I've ever tasted in my life

Three days of bliss.

I'd left with 6 Canada flags and a Canada pen in hand, and only came back with the one sewn on my backpack, but I'd like to think that somewhere in the world, the flags are being shown off to friends or family, accompanied by a "And then the canadian just gave it to me." Not being all high and mighty about that, but we gotta keep up that good ol' Canadian rep, no?

In actual Olympic news, the Canadian hockey team slaughtered Germany 5-1, scoring 3 goals within the first 10 minutes. And the Canadian girl I met on the train, who was going to cheer on her friend in speed skating with the flag I gave her? They got a sweet silver medal finish.

Was so lost in my train of thought, I forgot to finish the theme of this post.

...PRICELESS.

Turning the other cheek

2006-02-09T02:32:00.000-08:00

Il faut qu'on l'aide. Il le FAUT. C'est tout. Cette femme a subi a pas mal de choses dans sa vie. Mais ses les problemes de sante qui ne s'arretent pas d'arriver ne l'empeche pas a vivre au fond, de faire ce qu'elle veut, de continue en depit des enormes obstacles qu'une personne normale appelerait impossible. Mais elle n'est pas normale. On l'appelle folle, elle se tient au bout meme si, logiquement, ses souhaits semble insurmontable.

Mais moi, je sens en moi qu'elle va s'en sortir. Elle est battante. Cependant, il faut qu'on l'aide. Il ne va pas etre seulement son histoire, sa reve, son guerre a gagner. Prenons-le comme le notre aussi.

Unfortunately, I can't do it all alone. I'm going to need help. If we all pitch in, she'll make it.

I am going to make it my personal goal to make sure she gets through this.

01001 Cannot communicate 0101000

2006-01-31T06:33:00.000-08:00

I hate having a cellphone.

Au Canada, c'était pas une problème, puisque il n'y avait personne qui m'a appelé. Mais ici, tout le monde est gueudin (dingue en verlan) pour les textos et tout... Souvent, enfin, très souvent, il m'arrive que quelqu'un a besoin de me contacter, et soit: a) j'ai laissé mon portable chez moi, ou b) je l'ai laissé en silencieux et c'était trop tard quand j'ai lu leur texto ou écouté à leur message. Puis ils s'enervent parce qu'ils pouvaient pas me joindre. Bon, si j'étais dans leur place je serais frustré aussi. Normale.

Alors, c'est quoi la solution? Dire à tout le monde de ne mettre pas confiance en la combinaison de moi + les textos? De mettre un message de "Désolé mais il y a un possibilité de 95% que je n'arriverai pas à écouter à la message que vous allez bientôt laisser jusqu'à demain" à mon répondeur? Ou pire: de porter un des porte-portables pour le mettre sur mon ceinture (ha comme si j'étais Mademoiselle haut-couture ...pardon à ceux qui aiment ces machins-la... mais j'ai la droit à mon propre opinion, non?). OK d'accord, c'est bien celui-ci: De développer l'habitude d'allumer mon portable après mes cours et mes services d'église. Bon. C'est parti. Une nouvelle résolution. (Mais entre-temps, faîtes toujours le truc de méconfiance en moi et textos, svp...)

It's a problem that we've been experiencing ever since the arrival of the internet, the cellphone, email... The more ways you are contact-able, the more attempts (by others) to contact you slip through. And when that happens and they can't contact you, you better have a damn good excuse. And forgetting to turn on your mobile device doesn't count.

I wish all our communication devices could have "Interpersonal Communication Level" (ICL) codes built in. Like an auto-response when you hit send from your cellphone.

For example:
Sally's really branched in, Level 1. No matter when it is, or where she is, you'll get a reply from here in like, 2 seconds. Angelica, on the other hand, she's Level 2. You'll probably get a response from here within the day, when she reaches into her pocket and finds her phone in her hand, she'll check it for messages. But actually getting through to her on a phone call... don't hold your breath.

Ring ring! "The correspondent you have dialed is ICL 2. Have a nice day!"
*beep!* Message envoyé. "ICL: 2. Bonne journée!"

That way, my very loose attachment to forms of communication isn't looked upon with disDAIIIIN. It's just given.

Bleh. This is the problem when you're too branched in. Maybe I should just go live in the woods for a while.

On generosity

2006-01-29T15:02:00.000-08:00

Got a package in the mail yesterday from my awesomely thoughtful cousin Abbie. I was like, hey, it's not my birthday, and this couldn't be a new year's gift or anything.

I open it up and find a card:

"Hey Angel, I was doing some "spring" cleaning in December and I found these never worn shirts of mine. I thought you might like them! If not, feel free to share w/ your friends =)"

And I pull out four really cool shirts from CrazyShirts.com (plus really yummy lipgloss).

How thoughtful is that, people!?

Abbie's generosity never ceases to amaze me. There are people out there in the world who close their fists tightly over whatever they own, perhaps in the hopes that "maybe some day I'll use it"... whereas there are people like my cousin! And my good friend from school Kahina.

What is generosity? Well, if it's an inconvenience (or what other people consider to be an inconvenience) for you to go out of your way to send something, to take the time out of your schedule, or to drop a bit of money, but you happily give without any expectation for returns... that's generosity. Add a pinch of thoughtfulness where the gift has meaning. And share what you have without a second thought - don't just snarf down your yummy sandwich when your friend sitting next to you has but a bottle of water.

Admittedly, I'm not as thoughtful or generous as I'd like to be, but this is part of my changement for the new year, for the rest of my life.

3 of the 4 shirts I received went to roommates who look absolutely fab in them. Getting something unexpectedly boosted everyone's spirits, too.

Random acts of kindness. Do 'em.

I'm going to the Olympics

2006-01-28T09:49:00.000-08:00

Just received my tickets!

Igor and John will be coming down from Prague too to watch the Canada vs. Germany hockey game. Tickets weren't available in Canada, but luckily I was able to score some in France.

John and I have been corresponding via e-mail to figure out how to rendez-vous in Turin and make the ticket pass off:

--

Alright Johnny, listen carefully, because I'll only say this once. After reading this message you must immediately eat it, or else it will self-destruct after 92 days.

At exactly 14h00 (that's 2pm), 16/02/2006 my comarade Kenzo and I will be waiting for you at these precise coordinates:

Located in the heart of downtown Turin, within the Piazza Solferino, stands a newly built, high-tech facility called "The Atrium". Atrium Torino consists of two pavillions where the city of Turin communicates its own evolution and the XX Olympic Winter Games of 2006, via high-tech 3D multimedia.

To narrow down our location, I've chosen a landmark found at one of the entrances to The Atrium. It's a fountain that was created in 1928 amidst controversy, due to contentions that it secretly represented the Pillars of Hercules and the Cave of Light, which hold mystical and alchemical meanings among the occult.

This curious fountain is composed of four groups of statues resting on a granite base. The two female groups, Spring and Summer, flank two nude, chisled male figures, Autumn and Winter. The men sit perched separately, each leaning on one arm, looking back at one another from several metres apart.

You will find us directly in front of the fountain, where looking between these two men to the other side of the fountain is possible.

The name of the fountain?

Fontana Angelica

That's all I will say, the rest is up to you...

Till then,
Angelica

--

Tee hee. Fontana Angelica. Better not forget the name of it, guys!

Brigitte

2006-01-11T11:28:00.000-08:00

Yes, finally, Part III of my Journey Back. No more of these epic entries, they're tiring.

Now, this chapter isn't about the Louvre, not about the Champs Elysées, not even about the Eiffel Tower. What sticks in my mind from my short stopover in Paris is not a tourist attraction at all.

"We're going to see Brigitte..."

--

Saturday, 7:15AM

Paris, the city of lights! Rows of delicate trees lined the Champs Elysees, decorated in strings of christmas bulbs. I was finally there, in kuya Jo's car, hands and face pressed against the window, mouth agape, absorbing the passing scenery like a slobbering 5-year old (hey, one year older than the gift-receiving child in me).

Look! It's the Arch de Triomphe! It's so much BIGGER than I thought it'd be. Hey, what's that pointy thing? What's a concorde? Is that the Seine? Where are you driving?! How come there's no lines for lanes??

Kuya Jo and his wife insisted I stay another day to see the sights of Paris. The next morning, I got the whirlwind exterior tour of the Louvre and Jardin de Tuileries.

Tuileries, I later found out, did not refer to the way the chiffon on a 17th century ballgown twirled-eries around the hoity-toity royalty that used to frequent the palace which the Louvre now occupies... actually tuileries is a french word referring to the pseudo-factory of kilns that churned out clay tiles at that location back in the day.

That day, I visited the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur, Chateau de Versailles and eyeballed the Seine from afar. But without having any historical background, the tourist places just plain aren't that interesting. Sorry. I'll do my research before the next trip up there, ok?

In a different way, the filipino's I lived and travelled with taught me all I needed to know. And it had nothing to do with tourist traps.

That day, I learned humility. I learned to step out of the typical middle-class lifestyle I've taken for granted for so many years. I mean, I've been lucky enough to have parents with good jobs, be raised in a loving family, be educated to the extent of my means, even travel to another country for the sake of learning a new language.

I didn't move to France because I was fleeing a corrupt government. And certainly not because I was escaping an oppressive lifestyle where the best way to provide for my children is to leave my babies with friends while I work illegally as a femme de menage on the other side of the world and send Euros back home twice a month, living my own life on a shoestring. Nope, I gotta say, not why I came to France.

You see, Paris is just like any other city. There's the side the tourists see, and there's the Real Deal.

--

"We're going to take a sight-seeing detour for a bit, OK? I need to drop off that off," Kuya Jo thumbed over his shoulder to a bulging gift bag next to me in the backseat.

"Okie dokie. Who's it for?" I asked.

"Brigitte."

"Brigitte?"

"Yeah, Brigitte. She's my baby," he chuckled, winking at his wife in the passenger seat who laughed along knowingly.

"You don't have a baby!" Kuya Jo had just been married last summer.

"You'll see..." he replied, grinning.

A few minutes later, he expertly manueuvered into a tiny parking spot in front of an inconspicuous-looking, classically narrow and blanched Parisian building, slotted between the seemingly endless wall of other stores and residences. We followed kuya through a swinging iron gate, crossed an open-air garden walled in on all four sides , then entered glass doors which still had Joyeuses Fetes and Pere Noel frosted onto the panes.

I still had no idea where we were.

Kuya walked up to an information desk to my left while I surveyed the warm, colourful foyer. On an armchair in the corner, a dark african woman sat perfectly still while a younger gal, behind her, pulled a needle and thread up through the woman's tresses, affixing her braids together.

Several small girls, who I assumed to be the african woman's children, played together on a rubber, blue-orange-yellow jigsawpuzzle floor mat. A fully-adorned christmas tree filled out the other corner of the room, giving it a cozy family feeling.

"We can go wait in the room over there," Kuya indicated for us to follow him through the door to the adjoining hall on the right.

We sat down at a table in what seemed to be an empty cafeteria. It was nice. Large windows looked out into the garden, and a spotless metal food service counter gleamed as if freshly scrubbed. An oversized fridge towered on one end of the room, and next to it a cook in a white puffy hat sat reading a newspaper.

I leaned my elbows on the table and listened to the conversation between Kuya, his wife, and the other older-yet-fiesty couple who we'd been travelling with that day.

Suddenly, I felt a presence to my right.

I turned my head and jumped a little in my seat.

A metre away, a group of six young black girls stared back at me with curious eyes. They stood close together in two perfect lines, the smaller ones in front, as if ready to take their Grade 1 class photo.

A tiny 2-year-old girl, clothed in a dark pink corderuoy jumper, face framed in beautiful chocolate-brown ringlets, wobbled in baby steps toward me with chubby hands outstretched. SO CUTE.

"Coucou!" I greeted her in my best cutesy baby-french, taking her hand, "Comment t'appelle tu?"

"MARIE," chorused the peanut gallery. Wow. Synchro. In Dolby Stereosound.

"Ah. Bonjour Marie. Quel age as-tu?" I asked, half-expecting her Von Trapp family to break out into the Do-Re-Mi song.

But our conversation was cut short with the arrival of another lady, and the cast of characters scampered away without even so much as a "So long, farewell, adieu, adieu, adieu."

Enfin, je saurais maintenant qui, en fait, est Brigitte? (Finally, would I find out who, in fact, was Brigitte?) And where the hell I am?

--

April 2005:
A talented 26-year-old female military aircraft pilot from Manila makes the trip to Paris to compete in an international competition of Modern Arnis, a filipino martial art. Her team makes a spectacular showing in the world-wide event.

However, shortly following the competition, our young pilot is seduced by a local french-arab man, and falls pregnant. Angry, he insists she gets an abortion, and forces her to the doctor. She agrees out of fear and makes the appointment.

The day of the rendez-vous, despite not knowing a word of french, she communicates to the doctor she won't go through with the procedure. Instead, she asks him to lie to the father when he comes to check. It is understood. She runs away to live with an older filipino couple and never sees the frenchman again.

On December 26, a baby girl is born. The filipino couple and their friends witness the birth and welcome the baby as though she is one of their own.

The french social security system being one of the best in the world, the woman checks into a single mothers housing. There, the majority of the women are from Africa and speak french. Only the receptionist speaks english. It is hard to make friends. No food is allowed in the bedrooms, except a bottle of breastmilk which is stored in large refrigerators in the cafeteria.

It's been 10 months since the pilot and her team competed. Did her team just leave her there in Paris and go back home? Heck no.

None of them returned to the Philippines.

---

And as the glowing new mother passed her baby Brigitte to kuya Jo and his wife, I couldn't help admiring her for her bravery.

"It was very painful," she described to me, referring to the childbirth, "even the days afterward."

And she smiled, then walked over to the receptionists desk to ask once more for a poussette.

Us and Brigitte
The cafeteria

--

After a 6 hour train ride from Paris to Nice, I hauled my two oversized luggages off the train with the help of my uncle who'd come to pick me up from the gare. He dropped me off at my place, and I struggled under the weight of 32kg + 23kg worth of bubble tea supplies and books, up the elevator and to my door.

*CRACK*

The suitcase finally gave up it's last breath and plonked down immovable, as one of the wheels splintered off.

Juuuuuust made it, I thought, dragging the suitcase into my room.

The Journey Back - Part II

2006-01-10T13:53:00.000-08:00

Tazo chai teabags are readily available at all Lower Mainland Starbucks locations. For only $9.95, plus the cost of milk, you too can enjoy a warm, spicy latte in the comfort of your own home, no matter where home may be.

I was thrilled to discover this fact during one of my fake-Vancouver-tourist outings to a Granville street Starbucks last December. (During my 4-month stay in Nice, I'd made an extensive city search, not unlike the one for tapioca pearls, for sachets of chai tea. But alas, no beans. Or leaves, for that matter.)

Examining the price, I hesitated. "There's still time. You can buy it later," my imaginary procrastination devil whispered into my ear.

"Remind me to buy some chai before I leave, ok?" I prodded my touring partner. "I can't find the stuff in France, and I told my friends I'd bring some back."

--
Friday, 07h55 (that's 7:55AM)

I trudge sleepily toward YVR's Gate 35, the morning after the The Great Confusion. I'm on 4 hours of sleep, but staying up was worth it; at 1am, I'd managed to contact kuya Jonathan, a church brother from the Nice congregation, who was spending his vacation with his recently-wed femme in Paris. He'd insisted he come pick me up from Charles de Gaulle, even though my plane would arrive at the devastatingly early hour of 6:25am. What a guy.

I've 25 minutes till my Montreal flight boards. Hungry and tired, I spot an overpriced airport foodery across from my gate and order a random breakfast pastry and grande chai latte. I love how I can use American Express for my $5 Starbucks breakfast. As I wait for my order, I wander to their display shelf filled with sachet Tazo tea gift sets. That'd be nice to bring back for someone as a souvenir, I muse, smiling, and turn around to check for my order.

Wait a sec... My face drops as I realise that procrastination devil had almost claimed another victim. I'd almost forgotten to buy my tea! Whew, at least I could say that missing my flight gave me a second chance at something. I turn around and search for a box of Tazo chai. Earl Grey, Darjeeling, and something called "Awake"... I grab a box and stride back to the counter.

"Do you guys have this in chai?" I inquire to the woman at the register- a small, yet very efficient asian lady who reminded me of the Alex Mackenzie cafeteria cashier (Helloo!)

"No, sorry, that's all we have," she responded, handing me my order.

Oh.

Of course, airport location. "Okay, thanks," I take my grande latte, force a smile, and walk away, disappointed.

It's just tea, I told myself, sitting down and sipping the last chai latte I'd have till September. I sigh, dejectedly. But it's just so good. Coffee doesn't even come close.

Now, at this point, the old, timid Angelica would simply look longingly at the Starbucks and sulk quietly at her lackedbrainedness before being whisked away across the Atlantic.

Yeah. Old Angelica's a loser.

I look at my watch, gulp the last of my latte, and stand up.

"Hi again. I have a kind of strange request to ask," I recite when I get to the counter, imitating Greg's guide to How to Get What You Want When It's Not For Sale.

The youngish brown-haired gal nodded agreably, "Uh huh?" Encouraging.

"See, I'm going back to France, where there's no starbucks ... no chai tea. And you guys don't have the chai tea sachets left... Do you think I'd be able to buy one of your boxes of chai concentrate back there?"

I look over her shoulder at the white 1-litre box they use to make in-store lattes, and brace myself for a "Sorry, it's not for sale."

"Yeah, well actually we do sell boxes of concentrate, I've seen them before. $6.95, I think." Really?

"But there aren't any left of the retail kind..." she turns to examine a white box behind her, but her manager, the efficient lady, is at her side in 2 seconds.

"We can't sell it to you. See?" She holds up a box and points at the label: "It says 'Not For Retail Sale'."

She moves away, as if to say, Conversation Over.

Dammit! And then, out of nowhere, tears start to appear in my eyes. How embarassing. I guess I just don't like failure. Having to spend $200 on a missed flight and acting on 4 hours of sleep don't help either. Greg's words echo in my head: "Give the impression that you aren't leaving without getting what you want."

I stand there stupidly, as if my feet were glued to the spot. "I'll pay twice as much!" I blurt in desperation. Good move, dummy. I don't think that was in the guide.

The manager cocks an eyebrow and looks me up and down. I feel ridiculous, but I stare right back. It works. She's on the phone, and after 2 calls and a thoughtful observation from one of the employees, she sends a starbucks dude on a quest to "Flagship" (whatever that is) to retrieve a box of Chai Tea concentrate, retail version.

"When's your flight?" she asks.

"8:45."

"Hey!" she calls after Starbucks guy who's striding quickly away. "Can you run? Yeah, like run?" I love this woman.

Before boarding, I quickly buy a card and chocolates, and hurridly write a thank-you. "Starbucks, Gate 35" the envelope reads, as I slide it and the bag of chocolate almonds to the guy, now back from flagship. He hands me my gold-coloured box of tea concentrate. Mm... precious chai gold.

That's commitment to the customers, people. "I love Canada", I think to myself, as I walk onto the plane, box of chai tucked safely away in my shoulder bag.

The Journey Back - Part I

2006-01-09T17:05:00.000-08:00

When bad stuff happens, there are always two ways to take it.

Former Angelica: “Damnit, I can’t believe I screwed up so bad! Now I’m going to dwell on my mistake and make myself feel worse.” (cf. pessimism)

Current Angelica: “That sucks, I sure learned my lesson. Though, who knows? Maybe that’s the way it was supposed to turn out this time… let’s see what happens.” (cf. fate, butterfly effect, faith in God)

Over the past four months I’ve learned to be less hard on myself, and put my faith in a force higher than me. Take my flight back to Nice, for example.

Flight plan: Leave Vancouver on an Air Canada flight at around 11pm on Thursday night, connect through Montreal Trudeau Airport then Paris Charles de Gaulle, to arrive finally at Nice.
Estimated total travel time: 11h 30min

Actual travel time: 4 days.

--
Thursday, 9:45pm

I stare blankly up at the YVR airport departures board, laden with a backpack, Grace Hopper shoulder tote, and push cart bogged down with two overstuffed suitcases.

“I shouldn’t have brought so much back”, I think to myself, recalling the difficulty I’d had packing 12 kilograms worth of bubble tea tapioca pearls, powders and accessories into my 2 baggage limit.

Nah. So worth it.

My mom pokes me. “Anak, check your ticket. What’s your flight number?”

“Umm…AC 884.” We both gaze upward at the ever-changing lightboard. Hmm… Montreal… Montreal…

“Well, there’s that one at 11:20. That must be it,” I point.

“I thought you said it was at 11:10? And the one up there is AC 343.”

“Maybe they changed it?” I wonder, gazing back down at my ticket. “Heh, it IS January 5th, today, right?” I ask her, half-jokingly.

We stand there for a couple moments, eyebrows furrowed, counting forwards in our heads from New Years.

“Yup.” Well then, what was going on? I scrutinize my green and white ticket, my gaze eventually resting upon the numbers 1110. Flight time. 1110. The wheels turn slowly in my head, like a hamster poked into a lazy jog. Oh no. I flip to my second ticket, and my heart skips a beat as I read the departure time for my connecting flight. 16h40. Oh my god. 24 hour time.

My flight had left at 11:10 that MORNING.

---

Thirty minutes later, I snap out of my shock and find myself standing at the Air Canada service counter, my mom waving new tickets in front of me. How’d I even get here?

“Hellooo… it’s okay. They charged us a flight change change fee, but you’re lucky. They said that normally those tickets would be worthless already. You’ve got a flight to Paris, tomorrow morning. But they can’t do anything about the leg down to Nice. You’ll have to find a way down there yourself.”

So, not only am I still stunned at my utter stupidity, but 10x more confused that my mom isn’t rubbing it in. How is it possible that she’s being so nice about this?

She continues, as if responding to my disdainful I-hate-myself-but-why-don’t-you? look, “This stuff happens, and I’m sure it’s God’s plan. That’s why I’m not worrying.”

Sure, mom. More preachy preachy. Eyes rolly rolly.

Like being a kid in Willy Wonka's Chocolate factory, only with raw salmon

2005-12-19T08:44:00.000-08:00

Gooey New York Fries poutine, give-you-brainfreeze-coco-passionfruit bubble tea à la rainbow jelly, and not-half-bad dynamite roll sushi. Go abroad for 3 months, and these seemingly day-to-day pleasures will transform into exotic marvels for the tastebud upon return.

It is SO GOOD to be back, says Angelica's tummy.

On the to-do list:

Buy Vancouver souvenirs from Gastown (how weird is it to be a tourist in your own hometown!?)
Collect 6-month supply of bubble tea and related accessories
Have a chai latte
Play in the snow
Finish Programmation Internet website to turn in via e-mail
Study for January finals
See people! Please, call me or msn me or e-mail me to meet up... I've lost my phonebook to Fido handheld heaven. Check my MSN screenname for the number i've hijacked till the 5th.

Belated birthday thanks

2005-12-11T14:41:00.000-08:00

Just want to say a big thank you to everyone who made me feel special on my birthday. From the yummy Nerds, to the 40 bajillion lipbalms, to not-one-but-TWO-keychain-finders (lol), to the greeting card that made me feel dizzy-yet-loved from reading it, to the decidedly random Korean wetnaps, it all reminded me that I am not, in fact, alone. And the pictures. Oh the pictures. I happy so much. (<-- Yo, this is bad English)

I was also surprised by my very sweet friends with an amazing dinner chez nous:

Me : Sniff sniff, I am alone on my birthday. I will stay in my bed and sulk.
Somebody: *knock knock*
Me : I'll just pretend I didn't hear that
Somebody: *knock knock knock*
Me : Oh, fine. *open door* What the hell!

I love you all :)

Impulsive

2005-12-11T12:46:00.000-08:00

I need more days like this one. I'd only really experienced it one other time, in the mountains near St. Tropez, amidst the clouds and fog on a hilltop, above the rest of the world.

Silence, stillness, and the exhilarating feeling of self-awareness. No bustle, no day-to-day worries.

Just me.

--

It was 4pm, and I'd just finished speaking with the minister for about an hour. We talked about my worries about my faith. How can I know there is a God? Why is the bible trustworthy? Will I ever find someone to share my life with? When?

He answered all my questions, patiently and kindly. I ended with a satisfied feeling, like I'd just ate a 3-course meal of split pea soup, du magret de canard and a fluffy chocolate mousse. Hearty and fulfilling, and definitely not McDonalds-greasy. I cried as he prayed for me at the end.

When he left the office, I sat thinking with my elbows on the desk. A rustle of wind startled me out of my thoughts. Hmm, there are no windows in this office...

It'd come from the right of me, and I turned to see a small mesh air vent leading outdoors... the sudden breeze had knocked some papers out of place. My eyes landed on a 3-fold green and blue leaflet that had been tossed onto the desk, face up, turned towards me. Huh. Out of all of the papers to get blown towards me. It read:

"Don't Lose Hope"

Okay.

---

I left the chapel with my Ipod set on the "Classical" playlist. Usually this is where I walk home, past the groups of racaille traipsing around the gare preying on young tourist girls. I crossed the street and slowed as I came up to a Ligne D'Azur bus shelter. Suddenly I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, just like on the mountain near St. Tropez. I peered up at the transit map, pondering my options, as a bus pulled up next to me. Oh, what the heck. I turned around and boarded, whatever bus it was.

It was the 4, and it was going North. Good.

--

I'd always wanted to visit the mountains behind Nice. There's an observatory, a white dome I'd seen perched atop the forested hills, tucked away from everything. I sat on the bus with my hands folded on my lap, listening to Beethoven, watching intently out the window as the bus left the familiar world of downtown Nice. The hills surrounding the city grew bigger and closer, and soon I was at the edge of Nice proper, at the foot of the mountain slopes. The observatory was in sight. High. Up.

The sun was setting.

I disembarked near the end of the line, and looked around me. It was getting dark, but I still, I couldn't shake that odd wanting to get away from civilization to meditate alone. Unfortunately, it was Sunday, and no busses would be heading towards the observatory any time soon. Should I just cross the street and take a bus back the way I came? I spotted some stairs in the general direction of "up the hill," and made my decision.

It was decidedly creepy. Dark. Brittle dry leaves crunched under my steps and rustled in the wind as I made my way towards nowhere in particular. The stairway opened onto a wide alley winding up the hillside, spotted with yellow lamps and lined with cars. No. No civilization. Higher.

So many cats.

A couple times I wondered if I was trespassing on private property. It was too dark to tell, but meh. I climbed, taking random streets and railed passageways. No one in sight for a while. Better. I looked over my shoulder. The lights of Nice, I could see them now from above. This is good.

Finally, a clearing. Yes! A place I could sit in silence with my thoughts. I crouched and surveyed the view.

To my right, a small building, ancient-looking like all the others in Nice. How cool... but something was odd about it. It was topped with a cross.

A knot in my stomach. I slowly lowered my gaze and let my eyes adjust to the darkness below. More crosses. Headstones. Oh my God.

I'm alone, in the dark. Overlooking a cemetary.

--

To make a long story short, I continued walking for about 3 more hours, with just a couple stops: one to buy a Marguerite pizza and a 1 litre San Pellegrino and eat it on a roadside bench. Yeah, I forgot to ask them to slice it, and was thus reduced to the tear-and-roll procedure. Rawr, I should know by now... (Although the Korean tissue package came in handy!)

At one point during my delusions, I'd considered staying for the night at a 49 euro/night quaint hillside hotel, but the signed indicated "Hotel Complet". So I walked around to the back of their balcony and took a picture instead.

Enfin, I didn't really fulfill my goal, hey? I guess I'll need to go on a non-Sunday.

French Harold Hophozophen = Toto

2005-12-05T06:30:00.000-08:00

Just like Igor said. It's all about the beauty in the everything around us.

It was like a veil over my head was lifted. As I walked to school this morning, I remembered that France wasn't so bad after all.

For the first time, a dogwalker smiled broadly as I walked past. Then I crossed an older, un-creepy man who smiled and nodded instead of looking the other way. It sounds so cliche, but as I walked by an elementary school, I heard the laughter of children; that made me smile too. I went to the cafeteria for the first time with my classmates, and chuckled at the system they used to dispose of our dirty trays. I stared in awe at the roman columns nestled in the trees at the fac. I almost stepped on a tiny dog that belonged to a nice elderly lady at the papeterie; his name was Toto.

My eyes have been reopened to the beauty of life. I'm gonna try and make it stay this way.

(PS sorry about the title, only the people who have taken a course with Bill Havens will have a clue)

French people do weird things with their mouths

2005-12-04T23:23:00.000-08:00

* placeholder*

The smile is back, baby

2005-12-04T23:15:00.000-08:00

I'm in such a good mood, I even filled in (a couple of) the placeholder entries. Just like you say, Noah, it's pretty amazing that just the prospect of coming home has turned my life around. I feel (infinity + 1) times better.

I'm even skipping class right now, and I don't mind!

I'm coming home!!!

2005-12-03T16:27:00.000-08:00

You guys! My dad just told me he'd buy me a plane ticket home for the holidays!!! AHHHHHHH

Emo Post

2005-12-03T03:46:00.000-08:00

It's Saturday. I'm sitting out here on my roomate's terrace, decked out in a lacy brown tank top, chocolate cotton skirt, and blue surfer flipflops (never was one for fashion). The sun hangs high in the sky, warming my face and bare shoulders. Today, the torrential downpours and abnormally cold weather have finally ended. My midterms are over. I've finally found tapioca pearls to make bubble tea, after days of searching.

I should be happy.

But something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

I can't put my finger on it, either. It's an emptiness, a feeling of lack of feelings. There is a saying in French: "Je ne me sens pas bien dans ma peau."

I think back to when I was in Vancouver, and even when I arrived here in France. Usually I'm a happy-go-lucky gal, always resting firmly on the positive end of the teeter-totter (that's a see-saw, for you Americans out there). You could say my rose-coloured glasses were perma-glued to my face, and everything else I shook easily off like raindrops off an umbrella.

Maybe being in Europe has opened my eyes to more realities than I'd ever considered.

bbrr...the sun's hid itself behind a building, cold...

Suddenly my life seems so insignificant, tiny and useless. I go through the motions of eating to keep me alive, showering, going to school and church, and running errands. Hanging with friends provides momentary lapses of joy, but deep down, I still feel the same. Like something is missing.

What is wrong with me?

If I had a million dollars...

2005-12-02T16:45:00.001-08:00

Making a list of must-see places before my life is complete:

Barcelona, Ibiza, Sergovia, Spain
Avignon, Paris, La Corse, France
Rome, Venice, Florence, Piza, Italy
Marrakech, Morocco
Athens, Delphi, Thessaloniki, Greece
to be continued...

I can't wait till next June. In the meanwhile, I'm still looking for something to do during the winter vacation, other than study for my January finals...

Getting my KIBA on

2005-11-19T16:11:00.000-08:00

What is KIBA.

Is it...

a) Korea Information & contents Business Association

b) An anime character from Wolf's Rain

c) A German non-alcoholic drink that looks cool, tastes good, and was MADE FOR ANGELICA

...

Time's up!

KIBA = KIrsche + BAnane, a swirl of banana nectar and cherry juice, the designated driver's drink of choice in many German discotheques. As soon as Sabrina described it to me, I knew I had to have it. But do you KNOW how hard it is to find cherry juice in Nice? Almost as hard as finding tapioca balls.

That day, I had my KIBA. Here are some recent photos of me spreading my newfound joy to others:

Non non, tapioca, seulement petit petit

2005-11-18T16:10:00.000-08:00

The feeling is intense and ever-present. It's kind of like a spidey-sense, knowing deep down that something is amiss. The air weighs down heavily on Nice, consoling her in light of this somber fact:

There is no bubble tea in this town.

No one knows what it is, except for maybe Kenzo because I've talked his ear off exclaiming the wonders of the exotic (although I swear, very Canadian) drink.

We took on the challenge of finding the raw tapioca balls ourselves to make the drink ourselves. As there is no T&T in France, we systematically visited every asian store in the vicinity. It was kind of cool hearing asian-accented French...

- "Vous avez des boules de tapioca? Des grands comme ca?" (Do you carry tapioca pearls?)*mini hand symbol for OK*
- "Comme ca?" (Like this?)
- "Non, plus grand en fait..." (No, bigger, actually)
- "Non non, tapioca! Seulement petit petit!" (No no tapioca only small small)

Alright. Over and over, it was the same thing. No fat pearls, and why in the world would you want them anyway.

At the end of the day, I did realise that this onerous journey for the Real Deal would only make the result taste sweeter. We'd find a way. Don't get me started on the difficulties of making tapioca balls from scratch... (for the record, I only heard how tough it was second-hand lol).

Kounalis and the Great Outdoors

2005-11-17T16:11:00.000-08:00

No real bombs, just bombing midterms

2005-11-16T14:09:00.000-08:00

Oddly happy right now. Well, considering que j'ai complètement raté my midterm d'architecture, I'm very content. I remember the days when I'd come home to an empty appartment and sulk alone the couch. No more! Now I can sulk with the warm company of my roommates.

Take Neli for example. She's from Moldavia (are there other Canadians out there that have never heard of it either?) and is the nicest girl ever!! Both she and I adore music, although she's more into singing. So into singing that she actually has produced two songs in Romanian - they were on the radio anad everything!

Right now I should be studying for my databases exam on Friday, but instead I'm learning the lyrics to her song Te Astept... yay procastination!

Sorry for the lack of interesting things to say. My brain is fried like an egg on the engine of a Mack truck stuck in traffic on a hazy summer afternoon. *falls over*

Exasperation

2005-11-14T11:38:00.000-08:00

Okay, who the hell is calling in to my university and making bomb threats!? This is the second day in a row that they'd had to evacuate the university. It ain't funny! Can you imagine? All it takes is one 3-second call from a random phonebooth, and the entire community is brought to its knees. We can't go back in, of course, until the police checks every building, just in case. Two days worth of courses will have to be added onto our semester somewhere.

Sure, I should be glad that I get 2 days off, or that there isn't a real bomb (heaven forbid), especially given all the recent atrocities that've been happening. But it really makes me feel weak, paralysed, like a small child again. No control, no way to know if it's just a threat this time, or if it's the real thing.

I just hope the French police won't let it happen a third day in a row...

Cooker's Log, 6:54pm

2005-11-12T13:55:00.000-08:00

Angelica's Chop Suey Noodle Thingy

1 zucchini, bought mistakenly thinking it was a cucumber
1 carrot, half-chopped in cubes, half julienned. With a butter knife.
1 package of dried noodles from the Baker's care package
1/3 onion
4 inches green onion (the non-wilty part)
sauce soja (SO-jah)
salt and pepper
random maggi-brand seasoning

Soak the dried noodles in a bowl with someone's warm leftover water from the electric kettle. Heat the big frying pan (the one for big kids) on high. Splash in some olive oil. Olives are gross, but olive oil ain't bad. Throw in the chopped veggies, flinch from hot oil projectile attack. Stir bien. After a couple minutes, transfer to a glass bowl. Hope it doesn't crack. Go back to noodles and gently separate remembering if you washed your hands first... Drain. Fry up with soy sauce for a minute or two, while smiling to self: "How awesome am I!" Then mix with veggies, realize there's no taste, and plunge hand randomly into box of seasoning bottles. Add oops-this-ain't-pepper-but-hey-might-taste-good seasoning, then black pepper and salt. Repeat till tasty!

I am SO good.

Living under a rock

2005-11-10T15:19:00.000-08:00

I bought a radio alarm clock today. Nah, not because of the whole cellphone swearing fiasco... There's a good reason why I need to start waking up to French news each morning:

I didn't know there were riots going on in France.

That's right, more than 1300 cars have been torched over the last 2 weeks here, of which 155 were in my region of France. The violence urbaine has escalated to the point that a 10pm curfew has been smacked down on my city. And me, lollying along in my own little world, didn't have a clue.

Well, not until just a couple days ago. I mean really, my daily life hasn't been affected, and I haven't been watching TV nor listening to the radio. How was I supposed to know?

Although, today my university was evacuated.

Another alerte a la bombe, with the police and sirens and everything. Kinda cool that I understand that term now, but in a way, not so cool that I've had multiple occasions in which to learn it...

I can feel the love

2005-11-08T16:55:00.000-08:00

I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And it's not just because I'm sitting here in my blue flannel teddybear PJ's with the heater maxed out.

Naw, I'm smiling on the outside and inside, because I really feel like I'm being taken care of.

Yesterday night:

I come home late after another grueling 11 hours of class, tired and hungry. I push open the heavy wooden front door and am greeted with a flood of warm light. There are my two roommates standing there, smiling pleasantly.

"Salut Angelica!" Sabrina is cupping a bowl of couscous and veggies with both hands, and offers it up to me. "I made dinner tonight and we saved you some." Aww! I love these girls!

"A package came for you today, I put it on your desk."

I squeal with delight as I run into my bedroom.

There it is. It's what I've been longing for for so long (aside from that ideal fictional boyfriend, sigh).

MY HARD DRIVE!

Thank you, Daddy! Yay yay yay! I hopped around the kitchen, clutching the tiny box to my chest. Kati and Sabrina watch me, bemused, as I zoom around like a 5-year-old, on ecstacy, on Christmas morning.

Oh finally, finally. The past two weeks of laptop-crashing torment would soon come to an end!

But alas, as I realised around 11pm that night, the Windows Install CD was not in fact bootable, and thus I consoled myself with the Strawberry Bonne Belle Lipsmackers my mom included in the package. Yum. I can taste the love.

Today:
Wake up at 6:30am, a little frazzled yet eager to attack my computer problems once more. Unfortunately, calling my dad doesn't help much.

However, another caring character comes to the rescue once again. Thank you, Kenzo! I head to his place after school, and him and his brother work in tandem to resolve my problem. I've never seen such efficiency. Operating system acquired within minutes. I speed off to get my computer back online toute de suite!

I get home, and find more mail waiting for me. A postcard from Debbie! Mail from the BNP Parnibas bank! And another box, which I assume to be the 2nd box of Usana vitamins that my mom told me to expect. But WAIT.

So this is why Greg asked me for my address. How cool, it's not more gross vitamins, it's a package from Greg and Kat!

I tear into the parcel, and the first thing I see almost brings tears to my eyes.

A recipe for Adobo and Sinigang! How did you KNOW!? Are you psychic?? Seriously, I was wanting to make these exact things for the next Friday dinner, and I hadn't a clue how....

Now, I've never experienced the apparent joy that comes from tearing into Christmas gifts, but this must be at least 10000x better. Each discovery as I dig deeper into the box makes my smile grow wider and wider.

Ingredients for the Filipino dishes! A box of Pocky! Shrimp crackers! BUBBLE TEA RECIPES, MIXES, COCONUT MEAT, and even them FAT STRAWS. Oh lordy, I almost fainted with delight. You have no idea how much I've missed bubble tea. Sucking on tapioca balls in milktea mixtures just ain't something Europeans do, apparently. How sad!

I sit there at the counter, happily munching on my shrimp chips, legs swinging, reading the note and recipes. For a good 20 minutes, I forget completely about my mission to repair my laptop.

And now, I've got my computer back online and working beautifully. I'll be back to blogging regularly, this time for real.

Thank you to everyone who's made my day :)

Kalim, the butcher

2005-11-06T12:05:00.001-08:00

My butcher's name is Kalim.

Not Costco, not Superstore. I have my very own butcher, and his name is Kalim.

Allow me to explain. It's a long story.

First, we must understand that this week I've undergone a very drastic change. I'm not talking about me getting my carte de sejour...this is a preoccupation of the old Angelica. The gal who you once knew is now gone. France has allowed me to blossom into someone who even my own mother wouldn't recognize. Get ready for it...

People, I have learned how to cook*.

Well, sort of. Last week, I took it upon myself to skool my German roomies in the ways of the Canadian-Chinese-Filipinos out there (Kat, where are you?).

Why? Because all too often I'd get wide-eyed incredulous stares as I asked ignorantly, "Really? You mix banana and cherry juice together?" or "Oh my god, I can't believe you just ate that raw ground meat." Obviously, I had a lot to learn when it came to food and Germans.

Anyway, Friday, comme d'habitude, would be our dinner party, and I volunteered to faire la cuisine for the evening. On the big day after school, I wandered around my block looking for a boucherie. I'd be making Lumpia Shanghai, my favourite meat-filled spring roll of deep-fried goodness. A small shop with a red and white "Boucherie" sign caught my eye, and I sauntered in hesitantly. A young, 20-something dude with brown curly hair grinned at me from behind the counter.

Oh crap, quick, what the hell is ground beef in French?

Boucher: "Bonjour!"
Moi: "Bonjour, je pourrais avoir...euh..."
I looked around at the vast array of red slabs neatly arranged behind a glass, and made vague wrist-circle gestures.
Boucher: "Hmm, du porc?"
Moi: "Non, le....?"
Boucher: "Boeuf?"
Moi: "Ah ouiouioui, du boeuf."
Boucher: "Haché?"
Moi: "Oui voila :D"

Thank god he can read my mind.

We made pleasant conversation (yay for knowing how to talk about myself in French) as he ground it up in the machine and tallied up my total.

Boucher: "C'est 8,10 euros."
Moi: "Je peux utiliser ma carte bleu?"
Boucher: "Oui vas-y."

I slide my interac card into their machine and wait. And wait. And wait...Hmm... I look searchingly up at him as we realize it wasn't working. Crap, t-minus 2.5 hours to the dinner, and my main ingredient has become another casualty of my banking misfortunes (more about that later). I sigh, looking at my empty wallet and start to hand back the bag 'o beef.

Boucher: "Mais tu peux revenir plus tard pour le payer." (Nah, just come back and pay for it later.)
Moi: *blink* "Vraiment?" (Really?)

Okay, what is going on? He was really going to let me walk out of there without paying?

Boucher: "Ouioui, je fais confiance en toi. Et si tu n'as pas le temps ce soir, reviens demain." (Yeah! I trust you. And if you don't have time tonight, just come back tomorrow.)

Moi: *still standing there dumbfounded, holding the meat bag* "Wow. Merci!"

And I left, amazed. Amazed, but with a light heart. So there *is* still some good in the world. And that makes me smile.

---

*one filipino dish

Spinning the bottle

2005-11-02T11:43:00.000-08:00

...didn't work. Me being the monster of reason that I am, realized that exploring new, faraway towns on a jour férié (national holiday) wouldn't work. Yeah, let's take a train for 5 hours, arrive in town, and... find that nothing's open...

Good plan. Not!

(In case you're wondering, November 1st is All Saint's Day, observed in most of the surrounding areas.)

I was also reminded that I have almost a month and a half next summer to travel to distant lands. I suppose I'll do it then.

So what DID I do, other than wrestle with my ordinateur?

I decided to take a spontaneous one day trip to St. Tropez. Now, "St. Tropez" to most people conjures up images of glitzy stars tanning on their yachts in azur blue waters, or chic celebrities strolling along palmtree-lined beaches in white sarongs and Gucci sunglasses... oh la la!

But, I'm not rich, and I'm not famous.

A roommate warned me that in that case, "y a pas grands choses à faire!" (there ain't much to do!)

But when I got home that night, before my computer crashed, I couldn't help but start a blog entry:

-----
31/11/2005

Can I gush? Allow me to gush, please.

TODAY WAS SO AWESOME!

-----

I need a moment to compose my thoughts.

I've been having problems. Computer problems.

2005-11-02T11:29:00.000-08:00

Alright Igor, here's what you've been waiting for! ;) Sorry it's been so long. Trust me, I've been yearning to blog because this last week has been quite eventful, but my laptop has gone suicidal. Blue screens of death and funky clicking noises from my HD. Rarr! Let's just hope it doesn't die while I write this post. My dad's sending me a 80 gig harddrive and an external case to shlop the old one into, so soon I will have a nice fresh install. Oh baby, how long have I been waiting to get back the speed my laptop used to have...

Enough heartfelt geekiness. Off to blogging like I've never blogged before!

Getting a little emotional

2005-10-25T15:08:00.000-07:00

You know the saying "out of sight, out of mind"?

Yesterday I was shown this photo of Vancouver.

Sure, it's a little overglorified and idealized in that picture, but Vancouver still remains one of the most beautiful places in the world to live. And when I saw that photo of home-sweet-home...

*wail* I MISS YOU GUYS! *wail*

In that moment, it all rushed back to me. I miss the mountains, I miss Ichibankan $2.75 sushi, I miss not being able to get work done in the ASB, I miss counter-burning Timbo, I miss random Fridays... I miss EVERYTHING.

Of course, I'm enjoying the excitement and change of living in France. It's wonderful, don't get me wrong. I suppose this is just my first bout of homesickness. It took 6 weeks. Is that normal?

On another note, I'm thinking of taking a spontaneous trip out of town this weekend. The question is, where? I've got from Sunday afternoon to Wednesday afternoon. Maybe Biot? Grasse? Or farther inland, perhaps...? Or Italy? Spain? Hmm. I like Andy's idea of spinning a bottle.

Word of the Day

2005-10-25T13:44:00.000-07:00

Okay kiddies, time for a french lesson. Today we'll learn the expression "sécher un cours".

Example:
Yesterday I had class from 8:00AM to 7:30PM with only one 45 min break for lunch. Gosh, was I tired. Today, I started again at 8:00AM, and by the time 5:00PM rolled around, I couldn't bear another 2 hours in tutorial hell. Donc j'ai séché le cours, and went grocery shopping instead.

Who can guess what it means? Babelfishing est strictement interdit.

My State of Zen

2005-10-23T13:48:00.000-07:00

I chose to come to Nice for various reasons, and high on the list was the existence of a beach. Sun, beach, palm trees, oh my! But had I actually taken advantage of the fact that the beach is just a leisurely 20 min walk away? Of course not, that would be the smart thing to do.

Well, luckily I have a friend who *is* smart and urged me to make proper use of my dimanche.

I went alone, armed with a book and coursenotes, but I actually just ended up sprawled out on the blanket taking a nap in the sunshine. The lack of sand and abundance of small stones didn't bother me too much. Just imagine, looking out onto the glimmering ocean, with Café del Mar's ambient spanish strums setting the Ibiza mood, doing nothing, thinking about nothing.

I'd never quite succeeded at clearing my mind like that. Flashback to 6 months ago when I'd wake up at 6:00 in the morning, unable to get back to sleep, because I was worrying about some upcoming CSSS event. Not today, my friend, not today.

No dining table = getting creative!

2005-10-22T11:18:00.000-07:00

No dining table = getting creative!
Originally uploaded by petitegeek.

Last night Sabrina and Kati invited over their friends from school. English was spoken in abundance, and I finished off a whole bottle of banana juice.

Ma chambre was the chosen room. I had just recently rearranged the furniture to make room for fabulous floor picnics like this one!

Composed in Notepad

2005-10-19T16:02:00.000-07:00

Et voila quoi.

Sitting here listening to good ol' Matthew Good. If Blogspot had a mood indicator thingie, I'd be set on "complacent."

It rained today. For the first time it wasn't just a quick ourage lasting an hour, it was the real fat-droplet I-feel-like-at-home cats and dogs kind of rain, filtering in and out the entire day. I'd forgotten rain's grey and dreary depressing effect. But I suppose it's good for the soul (and the plants).

It also cleans the streets of Nice. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's that I have to walk along the sidewalk with my head down, examining the ground, as if I couldn't bear looking people in the eye.

Why must I subject myself to this anti-social, nerdalicious behaviour? Why, because every 100m, a kindly french dog walker had decided that yes, the pavement of the public streets makes the perfect recepticle for Frou-Frou's canine dejections. I won't elaborate as to why I'm particularly bitter, but you can guess. (gah)

On a less angsty note, I’m getting my bank card tomorrow. Finally! One more step in becoming a real person. I can’t believe how much I had to go through just to put money in there though. At one point, I was walking around downtown Nice with 7600 euros ($11,400 CAD) in cash on me. Kind of a cool feeling, a little dangerous and exciting, while empowering. Yeah, okay, stupid too, but what could I do?

My mom was *supposed* to wire the money directly into my bank account, but being very much like me, she took the path of highest-exchange, in this case being Western Union. Alright, sounds good, all I have to do is go to La Poste, the post office here which provides all sorts of other services. “It’ll arrive within 15 minutes of me sending it,” she tells me, “Go as soon as you can!”

Perfect, I have an hour lunch break, I told myself on Friday. I’ll go between classes. So I take the 15 minute walk to the nearest post office to my university. But no, cassé*! Post office closes during lunch, muahaha sucker!

Okay, I’ll take my chances Saturday morning then. La Poste is open, miraculously, so I line up for 10 minutes at the branch closest to my bank. Western Union only dispenses their money transfers in cash, so I’m understandably a little paranoid.

Are they going to just count out my life savings at the counter, in front of everyone?

I get up to the caisse and greet the woman with a friendly “Bonjour” and smile. She’s behind a swath of thick plexiglass, so I slide the transaction slip through the metal slot and wait. Her eyes bulge a bit as she reads 7600 euros, the maximum amount Western Union can send overseas. I guess she wasn’t expecting that from the placid-looking girl in flip-flops and a zip hoodie. Heh.

“Attendez,” she says, as she gets up to talk to her manager. At this point, I start to get this weird feeling in my stomach. It ain’t going to be this easy, is it…

“On ne l’a pas.” They don’t have that much. Et alors?

“Il faut que vous alliez à La Poste à la rue Thiers." (You’ll have to go to the post office on Thiers street.)

On Rue Thiers? Okay, this is not good... I’ve been to that post office before, the one across the street from the train station. The post office sandwiched between creepy buildings with pink neon SEX signs, surrounded by gaggles of gross guys whose eyes auto-lock onto any warm-blooded female passing by.

I suddenly feel really tiny and helpless. I needed my money, but I’d have to walk my cash through the red-light district of downtown Nice. As I walked towards Rue Thiers, I thought of calling up a friend from school to act as pseudo-bodyguard, but there wasn’t time. Besides, me? Getting all damsel-in-distress? As if.

I hate walking through that area though. Instead of looking at the ground to watch out for dog-doo, I keep my head down to avoid the glances of the creeps hassling me with

“Bonjour Mademoiselle, c’est quoi ton prénom?” (Hey babe, what’s your name?) or

“Vous savez, je suis vietnamien aussi.” (You know, I’m from Vietnam too.) Bastards.

Well, at least the post office wasn’t as bad as I thought. After getting the same blinkety-blink, tugging-at-hair reaction, the lady called over a colleague, conferred some more, and said “Vous allez au fond, à la porte là-bas.” (Head down there to the door at the end).

Cool. I felt so James Bond as I passed through not one, not two, but three electronically controlled doors, and arrived in a dimly-lit room with a small bullet-proof glass window. And within 30 seconds, the transaction was made, and a wad of 500’s was tucked safely in my body belt. Shut up, it’s not granny, it’s *functional*.

And there you have it. As the bank was closed that day, I bee-lined it straight home to stow away my treasure…well, with small detours:

“Omg, jeans for 10 euros!”

“Wow, Haribo candy store!”

I wonder how many gummy Schtroumpfs I could buy with this...

---

*cassé! - slang term which loosely means “shut down!” or “what a burn!” accompanied usually by an inwards, palm-up karate chop gesture.

sob sob sob

2005-10-18T14:41:00.000-07:00

just spent an hour on an update.

clicked publish

it did not publish

went back

message lost

*cries*

I need a real alarm clock

2005-10-15T14:03:00.000-07:00

You know what sucks?

Using a cell phone as an alarm clock,
Setting it for 10am on a weekend,
Getting startled out of a dream by that annoying ringtone,
Jamming the button to stop the ringing,
Muttering curses,
Seeing the phone display an "End Call" option,
Sleepily hitting the button again...

... and realising that I just accidentally mumbled "f*ck" to my auntie and hung up on her.

Oops.

Hooked on endorphins

2005-10-12T11:09:00.000-07:00

Another awesome day. *continues smiling broadly*

Today I:

Re-acquired my mad badminton skillz
Learned how to properly chop shallots
Laughed more than a hyena watching Robin Williams Live on Broadway

Here's how it went down.

Noon: Kenzo and I meet up to sneak into the open badminton session "jeu libre" at the gym. I say sneak in because neither of us have our carte de SUAPS (athletics card), another one of the things that requires a carte d'etudiante, woo!

It also requires a medical certificate from the doctor attesting that you're in good health. Holy bureaucracy batman, I have to pay another 20 euros just to get that checkup done!

Anyway, le type there was cool with us playing sans carte SUAPS for now, so we smacked the bird around till we were red in the face. Left me with a wave of sky-high endorphins which I would I ride for the rest of the day.

It was then off to Kenzo's for a late lunch. He lives with his brother in a studio that reminded me of Martin and Hans' place in Port Moody. Talk about geek heaven! A 24" (TWENTY FOUR INCHES!!!) LCD flatpanel, server closet, TV-enabled Dell box, and the requisite wall-mounted whiteboard. I was drooling all over the place, and we hadn't even cooked the risotto* yet.

Brian showed up a bit later. The guy is hilarious. And now that I can understand what he's saying in French, tant mieux! He was, in Kenzo's words, en plein forme, cracking jokes non-stop till we had to leave for our evening class with Prof Kounalis. Then two hours with the greek professor himself, who couldn't stop fawning over his jolis multi-coloured overhead projector slides... j'adore!!

Laughing is wonderful. I never want this to end.

*Incidentally, the risotto was made with white wine, but don't worry kids, the alcohol does evaporate. But I couldn't help smirking when he poured the wine out of a 255 mL tetra pack. Not a bottle, a tetra pack. All that was missing was a hole for the straw! Is it like that in Canada too, and I'm just ignorant of all things alcohol-related?

Can't stop smiling

2005-10-09T13:18:00.000-07:00

Alors, en fait, je crois que j'arrive à commencer à penser en francais. Sinon, j'ai remarqué que je peux parler plus vite! Whaou! Aujourd'hui, je sais pas pourquoi, mais je suis tellement, tellement contente.

Je viens d'arriver du cinema, ou mes collocs et moi ont regardé un film qui s'appelle... je ne sais plus, mais c'était beau! Je te jure! Il me rappelle d'Amelie ou bien Garden State. Je souriais pendant tout les deux heures.

Hahaha sorry, I just feel so pumped. This weekend has been fan-duper-tastic. Seriously, I've forgotten all about whatever-those-worries-were from last week.

Friday, I stayed in and watched 2 hours of Star Ac', where Celine Dion was guest starring. My favourite, Ely, la quebecoise avec un super voix, won the top spot (woo!) I had these great intentions to practice some Scheme, but ... *rougis*

Saturday was just a day in heaven. There's just something about cruising down the voie rapide with the windows down and the music cranked up. I sat with my arm propped on the sill watching the palm trees go by, sunning my face as the wind kissed my cheeks, not knowing it also was turning my hair into a veritable birdsnest of auburn and noir. But I didn't care.

"This is the life", I thought, as we passed mini villages of whitewashed stucco and deep red clay rooftops. And for the first time, I actually toyed with the idea... What if I stayed here? What if I stayed in Nice indefinitely? And then I went back to rocking out with the poprock blaring out of Bro. Alphie's rearseat stereo speakers. Maybe I'll come back to that idea later.

We arrived for lunch at a villa out near St. Paul de Vence. Now, St. Paul de Vence is actually a walled city perched atop a hill. One of those artsy towns I need to visit at some point. Anyway, we weren't at St. Paul de Vence.

Man, it was like we'd followed the yellow-brick-road, emerged from the forest and behold! A clearing with the most beautiful sight ever. A quaint yet luxurious villa carefully constructed of rounded stones, covered in emerald leaves and vines. A bridge arching over a gurgling brook out back. Ponds with white and orange carp. Tall birch trees providing cool shade from the sun...

Oh, and lots and lots of Filipino food.

So yeah, I swam, I bathed in the sun, I ate like a pig. It's ok, I'd been eating like a student for the last week anyway. I'll leave it at that, as the pics speak for themselves.

When I got back that evening, Kati and Sabrina, two of my German roommates, invited me to watch the Emperor's New Groove. So we lounged with blankets on my leather canapé and I popped Kati's movie into my laptop. I felt so deficient... they have all these cool movies on their computers. And I, the supposed technofreak, has... rien. N'importe quoi. Went to see another movie tonight at the cinéma, and honestly, I don't even know what the movie was called. But it was really good!! (If you know what the follow-up movie to L'Auberge Espagnole is, please let me know.)

So yeah! Once again, it's La Vie Nicoise. The Nice life. Parfait.

Shoot me now

2005-10-07T06:15:00.000-07:00

Let's just leave it at this:

Carte De Séjour

Pick Up Date: November 3

To the edge of the town and back

2005-10-06T00:54:00.000-07:00

Pas vrai.

I'd been looking forward to today for a while. It was my day of maturity, kind of like my 21st birthday or the day I passed my road test.

Today I was to receive my U of Nice student ID. You think I'm joking, but the student ID card is quite literally the key to life, the universe and everything.

With ma carte d'etudiante, I would be able to open a student bank account, get a discounted bus pass, apply for financial assistance, register for that university TaeKwonDo class, take out (comic) books from the university library, buy cheap food from the school cafeteria... go swimming, horseback riding... ;)

So, I got to the university super early to line up, the eager beaver I am, and whip through the first two booths where they checked my documents and took my money. Finally, I get to the booth labeled "Carte d'étudiante".

I proudly present my dossier, stamped all over with random approvals, and grin at the lady. "Voilà." She's like the rest of the staff, barely acknowledging my existence but with a curt nod as she takes the papers. I don't care, I keep smiling because I'm about 2 seconds away from getting my prize.

She looks up at me over the top of her glasses.

"Ta carte de séjour?"

I give her that confused look that's been perma-frozen on my face for the last 3 weeks. Gears spin in my head as I realize she's asking for my French residency/study permit, the thing I was gonna get the next day.

"Je croyais qu'il faut avoir une carte d'etudiante avant d'avoir une carte de séjour."(I thought you needed a student ID card in order to get the residency permit.)

"Non." And she rambled on a for a few seconds before I realized... You need to get the residency permit BEFORE getting the student card. And yet, the government doesn't grant you the carte de sejour w/o proof of enrollment. Um, chicken and the egg problem, no?

"Tiens." She passed me a sheet of paper attesting that I was temporarily enrolled at the university.

My face darkened as I realized I was NOT going to get my carte d'etudiante that day. Sonuva!

As I stormed out of the office (well, knowing me, it was more like shuffle out sorta dejected-like) I vowed to go straight to the préfecture to get that damned carte de sejour. After asking 4 different people, taking the bus in the wrong direction and checking the internet, I was finally on a bus heading out to the prefecture in Nice Ouest, past the airport, in the boonies, about 45 minutes away.

I was worried, because by that time it was already 3:30, and knowing French administration, the prefecture was probably closed already. Had to take my chance, though. I couldn't spare another moment without my student id card, 'cause I urgently needed to open my bank account so my mom could wire me the rest of my savings.

The buildings grew taller and newer as we left the downtown part of Nice (opposite, eh?) and I stood up to ask the bus driver the requisite "Are we there yet?".

"Non, pas encore, blablablablabombe" (No, not yet, ???????bombe)

I had him repeat himself, but I still couldn't make out the last part of his sentence. Darn, it seemed important too. I should brush up on my french expressions, I thought to myself.

When the stop finally came up about 20 mins later, he repeated that incomprehensible sentence and gestured in the direction of the prefecture. "Merci." I hopped off the bus and started heading in that direction, but got lost again within 9 steps.

"Pardon," I stopped a french skater kid walking down the sidewalk within his friends, "Tu sais ou est la préfecture?" (Do you know where the prefecture is?)

"Oui, c'est la." He pointed to a cluster of buildings about 200 metres away. "Mais il y a une alerte de bombe, tu vois la police?" And that's when I looked around at the police motorcycles speeding past, the sirens, the flashing emergency lights.

Une alerte de bombe. A bomb scare, at the prefecture! THAT's what the bus driver was trying to tell me!

I looked at the kid again, and asked one of more stupid questions that make me rival Phoebe from Friends.

"Alors, c'est fermée?" (Um, so it's closed then?)

Yes, Angelica. Another brilliant deduction.

What IS that?

2005-10-04T13:41:00.000-07:00

Look for the turrets
Originally uploaded by petitegeek.

Also, as promised, the mystery of the two towers. This is what I saw every time I walked to my lecture theatre (the building hidden in the very centre of the photo). For the longest time I thought there was a castle behind my school.

Miam miam!

2005-10-04T13:26:00.000-07:00

Check out what I ate today. It's a sandwich american-style, complete with fries! I'd advise against looking if you get queasy when you see roadkill...

Lunch

Transitivity now, transitivity now.....

2005-10-03T13:08:00.000-07:00

Finalement... la vie nicoise est la vie calme. Je suis démenagé hier soir à mon appartement au Nice centre. Et comme il est bien situé! 15 min à pied de mon fac, 2 min de toutes autres choses. OK that's enough french.

Today was a very up and down kind of day.

Up: Found out we're doing a hella cool project in our "Interpretation" class, where we output postscript to draw turing machines. Plus I've already got super partners to do the project with.
Down: It rained today.
Up: The rain stopped within 10 minutes.
Down: I started to get a little décue (sad) as the day drew to a close. I guess it was a combination of homesickness, the weather, and frustration. Frustration because I felt like I was going to burst from all the constant french.
<siderant>
Sometimes I feel like I've a waterfall of things to say, trying to squeeze through a tiny funnel. Blargh, I've turned into a quiet little thing in front of my french friends 'cause it takes several seconds to form a sentence. By the time I arrive at the translation, the moment has passed, ya know?
It goes like this:
Idea in my head -> english, english -> french output
It's the intermediary english stage that drives me nuts. Grr... why can't I just get TRANSITIVE already.
</siderant>
Up: Met an english-speaking German roomate, and indulged my need to gab. Seriously, I don't think I've had such a serious case of verbal diarrhea (joli, non?) but it was definitely a relief ;)
Down: Got blisters at my first capoeira class.
Up: The class is 70% guys, and they're all HOT.
Down: Won't be going again next week 'cause the movements are too violent for my ACL-lacking left knee.

Alright, time to crack down and either sleep or do work. Hm, let's see, l'optimisation combina - zzzzzzzzz.....

My first week of school

2005-09-30T23:45:00.000-07:00

There is no CSSS equivalent at the University of Nice.

Those of you who know me understand that this is like digging a stake in my heart, pulling it out still beating, julienning it, and feeding it to rabid rat-dogs.

On the other hand, I have made some friends here. Today I enjoyed a sunny lunch out on the grass with Kenzo, Denis and Brian. Kenzo is a super easy-going guy from Nice who's bilingual in english, enjoys a good game of volleyball, and reminds me a bit of Morgan. He also indulges me on my adventures (eg. the mystery of the two towers... pics to come).

Denis is a math guy from Toulon coming into informatique (CS), so we help each other out during tutorials. He's really patient with my french, even though sometimes I get frustrated that all my english ideas get bottlenecked as my mouth urgently tries to translate in real-time. Today he taught me what soustraction meant by writing an example on paper. Gosh, did I feel dumb..

Brian is the requisite lovably crazy dude, hailing from Montpellier, transiting from St. Tropez every morning. He bought us lunch today, said he liked my Google shirt. Yeah, it is pretty awesome ;)

So I guess with a common lunch and a cohort class, it ain't too bad having no CSSS. In fact, je m'amuse bien at the university library (bibliotheque universitaire). I've taken to learning french there during breaks. It's quite efficace, actually, and I doubt SFU has anything like the section at UNSA's B.U. I'll let you guess what I spend hours doing at the library...

Doh

2005-09-28T14:22:00.000-07:00

I've never, ever spilled anything on my keyboard before.

Just now, I was struggling with the Pegollo's printer, pulling on a jammed sheet of A4 paper, when paper yank -> hot Orange Pekoe -> Pegollo's open laptop magically aligned. I won the tug-of-war with the printer, but I lost in life.

Yay for destroying the belongings of the family who's feeding me and putting a roof over my head. Speaking of feeding, I'm getting fat :( People have even started noticing...

My prof is George Costanza's dad

2005-09-27T11:52:00.000-07:00

Today was thoroughly entertaining.

My Tuesday schedule of 5 hours of Combinatorial Optimization could very well have driven me crazy. I braced myself as I entered the Amphi Chimie at 10h this morning, having heard beforehand that the prof was Greek, and was hard enough to understand if you were fluent in french. That's alright, I was up to the challenge. I plopped myself into the front row once again, and watched the prof intently as he prepared his slides.

Yeah, he did look greek; a round, deity-looking guy wearing a flat gold necklace and a plump, satisfied smile. He moved with sweeping gestures, and I expected his lecture to be as grandiose. But when he started to speak, I almost laughed out loud in the silent lecture theatre. (I clapped my hand to my mouth and shook silently, eyes laughing instead.)

You know George's dad from Seinfeld (or Carrie's dad from King of Queens)?

Yeah, Dr. K communicates with the same blatant disregard for his listener's eardrums . When he speaks, he stands erect, raises his head with his eyes slightly closed, opens his mouth and shouts! And not all the time, no. Just random outbursts that jolt everyone out from their seats. Oh man.

2 hours of that in the lecture theatre... I was grinning in bemusement the whole time, even if I couldn't understand half of what he was saying. Same deal in our 3 hour long tutorial. I thought he might tone it down in a smaller room, but no.

Apparently it gets old/tiring after a while, but for now, I'm very very amused.

C'est rare, ca

2005-09-26T12:17:00.000-07:00

All my instruction so far has been by female CompSci profs. Sandrine, Isabelle, et Carine. Three of them!! How cool is that??

Fait'ing la bise

2005-09-26T09:43:00.000-07:00

Gawd... first day... so tiring.

I really took for granted the way SFU scheduled classes. First of all, you can choose what classes you feel like taking, they only last 50 minutes, there's plenty of time for breaks....

Today, I felt like falling over by the time lunch came around. Here was the schedule I was assigned:

8h - Languages & Automata (2 hours)
10h10 - Databases (2 hours - in the same lecture theatre)
12h15 - Lunch (45 mins)
1pm - Databases Tutorial (2 hours)

I'm bringing my waterbottle tomorrow. Dehydration and migraines = bad.

On a brighter note, Denis introduced me to his 3 friends from Antibes who are in first year Math/CS, and they seemed nice :) I was a little surprised when ils ont fait la bise as soon as we were introduced. I thought that double cheek kiss thing was just between people who knew each other well, but apparently not! At least I've learned to prevent myself from jumping back in wide-eyed surprise... (Why are you entering my personal bubble?!?)

One more thing

2005-09-23T15:49:00.000-07:00

Before I left the orientation, I experienced my first real moment of culture shock in the 1.5 weeks I've been in France.

The crowd had dispersed slightly around the directrice, so she looked around and asked if anyone else had any more questions. I'd already figured out the TD thing, so all that was left was finding out what to do with that English as a Second Language class that was slotted for the entire day, every Wednesday, that all the other students had groaned about. It didn't seem right/fair that I should take it alongside the others. 'Specially if they curved grades here.

I stepped up and started to introduce myself, having e-mailed her previously and wanting to thank her for her help. She knew my name without me having to say it. I guess they don't have too many Canadian girls coming to their program very often.

The next bit of the conversation went like this:

Directrice - "Vous avez des questions?" (Do you have any questions?)

Me - "Oui, à propos du cours de l'anglais...Euh, est-ce que c'est possible de ne le prends pas...parce que c'est pas juste..." (Yes, about that English class. Um, is it possible to not take it? 'Cause it doesn't seem fair)

D - "Ah... l'anglais du première annee alors?" (First year English then?)

M - "??? *confusée* Non, je veux dire, peut-etre le francais alors..?" (???*confused* No I mean, maybe I could take french instead?)

D -"Ah ben no... Hé! Prof soandso, viens. Le cours de l'anglais, qu'est-ce qu'on peut faire? Elle parle pas l'anglais." (Oh no I don't think so... Hey! Prof soandso, come here. What can we do about English class. She doesn't speak English.)

M - "Oh nonono! C'est que je le parle fluentement!" (Oh nonono! It's that I speak it fluently!)

Crowd and Directrice - *ogle*

Random guy - "T'es maitrise en anglais??" (You're fluent in English??)

M - "Oui...?" (Yea...?)

And then it hit me. THEY THINK I'M FROM CHINA.

Last weekend as a free woman

2005-09-23T15:10:00.000-07:00

Today I was a tourist. Man, my feet hurt.

Yeah, considering I found out yesterday that school actually starts THIS Monday, and not the Monday after, I decided I should actually get in as much "vacation" time as possible. Climbed a small mountain (ok, a hill), chilled at a café with a glace à la banana split, strolled the beach, wandered the 'spensive tourist shops, got hit on by gross french guys, and tried a Nicois specialty, socca. It's basically like a salty crepe, made with pois chiche (cornmeal?). It was alright, but too much is like dipping your tongue in the Mediterranean. Too salty.

I need to get friends. Today was cool, sure, wandering around town on my own schedule, but well, the downsides are obvious. That's okay, I think next week should be better. I'll be spending the week in a cohort of about 40-50 other CS students... maybe one of them will want to be my friend? *puppy eyes*

Orientation was yesterday. It was pretty much as I expected. Got to the lecture theatre early, where 68 guys and 4 girls milled around, waiting for the doors to open. They were all in their little groups, slapping each other on the back, joking around, fait-ing la bise all over the place. It just didn't seem right to march right into their reunions, so I leaned on the wall.

Once inside, I grabbed a front seat, determined to understand every frenchy word coming out of the directrice's mouth. Behind me I heard murmurs of someone wanting "du chewing gum" and his friends coming up dry, so I turned around and offered up some Trident. They looked surprised, but gratefully accepted, and voila! Ice Broken. Introduced myself to a couple guys named Jonathan and Fabian, but got cut off by the prof who was starting the orientation.

I was in for a few surprises.

First of all, as I mentioned, school apparently starts on Monday, Sept 26 (Surprise #1). For some reason I thought it started on Oct. 6, you know, considering they scheduled my registration on Oct 5th!! Kinda weird to go to school before completing my registration, but whatever. They had my name because I'd pre-reg'd online, and that's what matters.

Then she told us our compilers class would be done in Scheme, stressing that although "you've used it for a long time now, you better revise". So, I have to start looking at Scheme this weekend (Surprise! #2)... oh well, no biggie. And not really a surprise either.

Anglais would be taught every Wednesday for the whole day.... Hmm... and something else about "TD"... what was that?

Actually there weren't too many other big surprises, I guess I just felt very enlightened by the end of her speech. And full of questions, but as a gigantic crowd of students pounced on her after she finished, I decided to line up for pictures and talk to her after instead. As I waited, I thought I'd get one question out of the way, so I poked the guy in front of me:

-"Euh, pardon... vous savez c'est quoi le 'TD'?"
-"Traveaux dirigés, mais j'sais pas comment ca marche ici, j'suis pas de cette fac."

Ah, so TD are labs. And he's a newbie too! Turns out he's a transfer student from Toulon named Denis. Cool, so here's the plan: find more french-speaking transfer students, and that way I can get both the culture aspect and the I'm-alone-and-need-social-involvement bit. French friends, my dream come true. Hm, overthinking this much?

Found one!

2005-09-21T13:01:00.000-07:00

Got a call on my NEW cellphone. It was the guy renting out a 6-bedroom apartment in Nice Centre. We set up a meeting tomorrow for me to give him the deposit.

Oui c'est vrai! I've found a place to live!

I'll be moving in on the 1st of October. My room is big, with tall windows that overlook the street below. There's a couch, a little TV, and precious precious wireless internet. The best thing about the place is that there are 5 other students living there. I'm imagining it kinda like Big Brother, but without the cameras. Hm, setting my hopes a little high, eh? We'll see how it really turns out...

My Very First French Flu

2005-09-21T02:48:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I'm sick. Caught it from the little girl of the family I'm staying with. Ugh, my orientation at school is tomorrow, et quoi alors?? *sniffle*

On the bright side, yesterday I bought a cellphone. Here, all cell phone numbers start with 06, whereas home numbers start with 04. So my number is 06.xx.xx.xx.xx. Courtesy of the phone company Bouygues Telecom. Try and say that 3 times fast. Or once :P

French people are fanatics when it comes to text messaging. Colourful pulsating TV commercials for horoscopes to be sent to your phone (for a fee, bien sur) and even packages where you get free SMS' if you agree to have advertisements sent to your phone. Terrible.

Also, I think I'm getting hooked to French trash TV. Star Academy, like Big Brother and American Idol rolled into one. I'm rooting for Ely, la francophone canadienne!

Darn lundi's

2005-09-19T12:32:00.000-07:00

I had this great plan to get a SIM card for my cell phone today. A sim card, a charger for mon portable, and my very own french phone number. Tito Noel told me to try Orange, down the block. Okay, sleep in till 11am, get ready, head out, get to Orange, realize that EVERYTHING'S CLOSED ON MONDAYS!

Noooo...

Well, except restaurants. So I went for a crèpe instead. Mmm...

Been one heck of a week

2005-09-18T15:07:00.000-07:00

Alright, I figure it's time I do the whole blog thing, since I said I would and such ;)

It's been a week since I left Vancouver, but it feels like months. I miss everyone terribly, but that's probably mostly because I haven't met many people my age yet.

My first 3 nights were spent at the beautiful Les Camélias Auberge de Jeunesse. I arrived after 11pm the first night, so I had the pleasure of sneaking into a darkened room with 5 sleeping people, making a loud ZZZIIIIPPP noise as I cracked open my luggage, and painstakingly taking out my stuff to get ready for bed. I did as little as possible, even foregoing the bedsheets so I would stop making so much noise!! That night, I slept in the jeans and shirt I walked in with. Needless to say, it wasn't the most comfortable night.

When I got up though, the morning was glorious. A sweet breeze wafted in through the open window. It the clean, fresh, unlike anything I've ever smelled. Everyone had already gone down for breakfast so I made as much noise as I wanted, zipping and unzipping my bag to my heart's content ;) Oh, also, the toilets are ingenious. It's basically just a rounded rim, small enough so girls don't fall in, but no flat seat liable to get peed on.

Anyhoo, breakfast was free, and tasted as such. Some nice baguettes and unlimited coffee/tea/hot chocolate, but the nastiest cereal you'll ever encounter on the face of the earth. Probably better that I only stay there 3 nights. Breakfast was the best part of the hostel. The first morning, I met a young German couple travelling through Europe, the second morning, some Japanese guys and a couple spanish/brazillian dudes, and the third I spent talking to one of the Japanese dudes I'd met the day before. We exchanged MSN addresses, since he wants to learn more English, and I told him chatting online was how I learned French (c'est vrai!)

The second best part of the hostel was meeting people in the same situation as myself. When I returned from school on the second day, one of my roommates looks at me and asks (in french) "Hey, were you at the faculty of science today?". After I finally figured out what she was asking (go 13 years of french class!!) I said yeah! "At the library?" Yes! Turns out she saw me there earlier that day.

Her name was Liouba, a 2nd year Math student going to the U of Nice, also staying at the hostel while she looks for a place to live. She was super nice, and really patient with my crappy french. It was sad to say bye on the last day, but we promised to find each other when school started. What's wrong with me though, obviously I should've asked her if she wanted to find a place together, double our search, etc, right? Too shy *blush*... maybe I'll call her tomorrow.

Okay, I'm going into wayyy too much detail. The next few days I met up with the church folks my mom hooked me up with, visited Monaco, hung out with the kids of the church folks, ate french sandwiches, realized there's a housing crisis in Nice (woo), and met a Newfie girl who was actually in my Montreal French Summer Camp in 2001. Also realized how disorganized the U of Nice is, I'll whine about that later. Toodles!

Test

2005-09-18T14:51:00.000-07:00

Voilà mon premier message.