Bucket List: Europe

Edit: After making this list I really wish that I lived in Europe. Europeans have NO IDEA how lucky they really are.
I have been meaning to do this for ages:

• Louvre on a Friday night: from 18h00-22h00 free for students
•  Royal Castles of Neuschwanstein and Linderhof Day Tour from Munich, Munich, Germany: 
  Visit fairytale castles Neuschwanstein and Linderhof, built in French Rococo and neo-Romanesque style by eccentric King Ludwig II and hidden deep in the Bavarian mountains.
  
  
• Monter la Tour Eiffel: deja fait avec ma belle cousine, Rosemea.
• Naples and Pompeii Day Trip from Rome, Rome, Italy: 
  Ride along the Highway of the Sun, crossing the Castelli Romani, dotted with enchanting medieval villages, then, continue across Naples’ historic center, before visiting the ancient city of Pompeii.
  
  
• L'arc de Triomphe: avec Maria et Stefano
• Go to Duplex Nightclub: free before 00h30 for girls, 16e.
• Mixte Nightclub
• Notre Dame Tour: Suprisingly free, yet such a long line to get in. Have to go in the morning one day.
• See the Tour Eiffel light up at night: at 22h00 and 23h00- done this at least five times
• Faire une nuit blanche: x 3 already :P
• Berlin: My friend Viktoria lives there, but she won't be there when I go. Perhaps, she can recommend some places to me.
•  Stonehenge, Windsor Castle and Bath Day Trip from London, London, England: 
  Discover the wonder and mystery of Windsor Castle, home of the Royal Family for 900 years, then step back in time to Stonehenge and the elegant Georgian architecture, Roman spa and Pump Rooms of Bath.
  
  
• Learn more Italian: at a rate of knots. Oral Italian anyway (no innuendo intended)
• Learn more German: Daniel or Viktoria.
• Munich
• Tate Museum, England
• La Belgique
• Holland: ride a bicycle, Anne Frank Musee, take some beautiful photos, look at the prostitutes in the red light district, meet some beau gosses hollandais la-bas. I am going to assume that all Holland-ish (je rigole) people are stunning, just like that Dutch girl I went to school with. Curse them!
• Ski-ing: Maybe I won't have enough money for this, maybe I will...
• London
• Do some more drawings of Paris, fool: Already bought a nice sketch-book and pens for this purpose.
• Rome: I have lots of Italian friends here and I think that most of them come from Roma.
• Decorate my appt
• Get a table
• Send some postcards.
• Switzerland?
• Edith Piaf's former appt.
• Les marches de puces
• Buy something at the Belleville markets
• Centre Pompidou: Free, generally open 11h-18h (10h on w/e, 20h Thursday-Saturday).
• Get portrait done in Montmatre: did this as a child, would be interesting to have a comparison.
• Climb to the top of the Sacre-Coeur
• Visit Sacre-Coeur
• Chateau de Versailles: Should have gone when the weather was nicer. Damn.
• Les Invalides: Gratuit pour les residents de l'Europe moins de 26ans De 10h à 17h, (17h30 le dimanche)
• Musée de l'Armée 
  Hôtel national des Invalides
  129 rue de Grenelle, 75007 PARIS

Le delire et les reves d'enfance.

Sunday night, I had the genius idea of adding some rice that I had cooked and frozen to my simple meal of vegetables.
Bad Idea.
I forgot that my freezer is dodge as.
You can imagine the kind of night I spent.
Luckily I had no classes on Monday, that would have been catatrophic.
This is my first experience of food poisoning ever and hopefully the last. Luckily, I threw up so many times during the month I was sick in Perth before leaving for Paris, that I knew exactly what was coming and could prepare.
That's one of the sucky things about living alone: you have to be completely self-reliant, even when you are sick.
I went to the pharmarcy today and told her about my situation and she gave me some pain-killers and some  medicaments to re-instate the balance of my stomach or something. As I was feeling a bit dizzy and out of it, I didn't really pay much attention.

For K5051, Recits et Reves d'Enfance (Narratives and dreams of childhood) we have to read Freud's psychoanalytical interpretation of the dreams which occur in the novella, Gradiva (1901) by W. Jensen.

The next bit is a bit thick so if you only the summary of it, just read the yellow bits.

I started to read this last night (I should have read it by last week, but I missed the first cours so I didn't know this). Gradiva is a really interesting nouvelle a lire parce qu'il s'agit d'un jeune archeologue qui tombe amoureux d'un bas-relief d'une jeune femme pompienne qui fut morte en 79 a cause de l'eruption de Mt. Vuseve  [a young archaeologist who falls in love with the form of a young Pompeian woman who died in 79 AD during the eruption of mount Versuvius]. Due to her unusual walk, he names her Gradiva, meaning she who walks ahead. This imaginative German youth, while in Pompeii dreams about the destruction of the city and the death of the young woman. This dream no doubt rivetted Freud, because there were so many elements that he could tirer du reve which demonstrates the relevance of his new and unconfirmed theories- he spends some time analysing it.

This dream d'angoisse exprime son desir pour avoir une femme certe, vivante, reele. 
The next morning he flees the town for Roma, but he is troubled by all the happy jeunes maries. Meme s'il est inconscient, ces couples le genent parce qu'il n'a pas une femme vivante a lui. On comprend cet origine/raison apres la decouverte de Zoe Bertang, sa ancienne voisine et son amour d'enfance. etc. etc.
He then goes even further South to escape these newlyweds who seem to have invaded every museum, every hotel and street, but finds that there are still cent exemplaires de ces Venus et Poppilon, ces Augustes et Grete. (Auguste, mon amour- Grete ma douceur). He dreams about one of these young couples represented by Venus and some other figure of antiquity expressing their love for one another. Of course, Freud whose theory is focused on the idea that dreams express nos desirs dans une facon cachee completely ignores this dream as it is obvious what it means- it doesn't give him anyway to demonstrate his theory.

Anyway the long and the short of it is that the main character, Nobert, returns to Pompeii and he stumbles across a woman identical to his Gradiva. He speaks to her in Latin, then in Greek only to have her reply, "If you wish to speak to me, you must do so in German".
After a short conversation, she swiftly leaves, leaving Nobert (what a crappy name), completely confused: Is this just a figament of his imagination or is this Pompeiian woman real?- And that is the basis for the rest of the story.


But I won't bore you anymore with these notes of mine.

I now I have to read Freud's interpretation of Gradiva.

I was in my arm chair last night.
My legs en repos on the mono-chair of ma chambre.
Wearing my ski-pants and jacket.
Reading Gradiva.
Presque en dormant.
I read the book: dream-like state.
Whenever je lis en francais, c'est toujours comme je suis en train de rever.
Je laisse couler les mots sur mon esprit, comme l'eau sur le dos en me lavant.

It's interesting to have this double-state of dreaming.
Dreaming, almost falling asleep.
Reading about le delire et les reves du jeune archeologue, Nobert.


Although this unit is a bit recherche, it gives something for my mind to chew on at the very least.

An Adventure Filled Weekend.

Dear Paris,


You are amazing, but you already know this. Even after six weeks I still think that you are beautiful.


Love Tori xx

Yesterday, I participated in Les Olympiades at Cite U.

Leaving only 1/2 hour before I was sure I would be late, but a little bit of old-fashioned running ensured that I was only 5 minutes late.

Some fun activities -I the ever-sporty representative of Australia- was going nuts cheering for our enthusiastic but nevertheless losing team of Paris 3, all dressed in purple.

Had lunch with two boys from the red team (Paris 8, I think?)- one egyptian, the other moitie italien, moitie francais and a Chinese girl called Louise from my team. Her friend (South Korean), came over to have a look at what we were doing. After she found out that I was an Aussie, we discovered that not only had she been to PERTH, of all places, but she had also done some studies at UWA. What are the freaking chances?!

For lunch, I had Poulet et frites, une salade de carottes et un yaourt all for the insane price of 3,10EUR.
INSANE.

After lunch, more activities and I managed to get more bruises, one even on my fingertip (slight swelling).

I had to leave at 15h30 to get to Bobino Theatre near Montparnasse tower to see Voca People. Incredible. I kept thinking of how much all the girls in the Animando Barbershop at St. Hilda's would have loved it.

After the show, I chatted to my friend Alizee and her godfather's family, who came with us. We departed swiftly to my apartment in the 11th.

I took Alizee to the Eiffel Tour as it lit up at 20h00.

There were some Mexican musicians and we were dancing to the Salsa music.

We took a Carousel ride and then ate a crepe in front of the Eiffel tower- beautiful moments.

Then accidently met two Germans and a Turkish girl who were trying to get to Rue Oberkampf(like two streets from me). I thought one of them was Irish as he had a funny accent (they spoke in English to each other) which is why I started to talk to them. Luckily they met up with me, because they had the completely wrong station in mind! 




Then we danced the night away in a Bar called Mercano. Returned home at 5am (didn't really have dinner except for a fromage crepe in front of the TOUR EIFFEL). Today was Skypery and laziness. Need to really get my study on and plan what to do after Amsterdam.

Update 2:

So from our last session you didn't really answer the question...so what has changed?
I haven't watched television in over a month.

I've cooked nearly every single meal for myself.

I have had to mop and do every single last household task. I pay rent, I clean, I have bought a lamp, books, mops, brooms, kitchenware.

I have learnt that I need to feed myself at regular times to stay happy and healthy.

Living on the 6th floor of my building with the lift broken, stairs no longer phase me. AT ALL.
I practically skipped up the Arc de Triomphe on Monday night: Note that cela comprend 50m vertically.

I do my own grocery shopping. The way I know whether a shop is expensive is by the price of bananas. At the tri-weekly farm markets trois pas de ma residence le prix de bananes est 0,99EUR le kilo. I used to shop at Simply Market (2,34EUR le kilo) down the room, but a week ago, I discovered a big Asian supermarket. It's way cheaper: Bananes? 1,30EUR le kilo!!!


The simplest metro route is nearly always the best chemin. Changing metro lines sometimes requires you to walk kilometres underground.


In short, I have had to be a strong, independent black woman.

Update 1: Friends and Language

So I've been here for 1.5 months.

Seven weeks.

49-ish days.

Many moments.

Wow.

Let's imagine this as an interview in a smoky, dark cafe called L'Assasin in the hip, but louche Belleville.

So what has changed?
What has changed? Can you be more specific?

For instance how has your life changed since moving into your new apartment?
Well, making new friends has been a huge change. At the Orientation session on 13th September all the Erasmus kids (that's the European exchange program), Ben (othe exchange student from UWA) and I were ramasses into an Amphi at the Censier Campus (not far from a Natural Science museum or the Mosquee de Paris).

Sat two rows from the front, we chatted to our neighbours who were Austrichienne and Cheque respectively. After being force-fed with information (tons of renseignments) we made a quick exit and had lunch in a creperie nearby. I, being a Tori, helped them finish of course. Janka complained that the cigarettes in France are too expensive: very interesting because I assume that they are much cheaper here than in L'Australie. 


Je suis desolee si tu ne comprends pas francais, mais ca me gene de temps en temps, de reflechir sur ma vie parisienne, sans ecrire dans la langue du pays.


Racing ahead to the language component, I am starting to melange my French and English. This is natural as I am taking on French as my No. 1 langue.

I'm also learning lots of italien as I have many beautiful Italian friends with their olive skin and exotic eyes. When I say lots, I mean I'm using useless phrases such as:


I spaghetti mi piace. Mi ciamo Vittoria.La Marmalatta di fragele di bosco e orgasmica.


Sono una bella ragazza. Vorrei una chocolata. PREGGO. Andiamo. 


Preggo is by far my favourite word in any language.


I also have some German friends. I like German (the language) now. I always used to think that it was an ugly language. Now I find it kind of cute: it's a bit like listening to aliens talk.

Wasser. Kirsch. Bitte schon. Danke schon. Heil Hitler. Swartzvalder Kirschetorte mit Slagg zhana (don't hate me if I spelt that wrong, I've never done ANY German in my life, apart from orally. Oh god, that sounds so wrong).


In some ways I feel like a bit of a language dunce as I only speak two languages. Some people here seem to speak about five fluently! I blame Australia and our lack of interest in foreign languages.

Sometimes having the international language as your mother tongue puts you at disadvantage: of course it mainly rocks.

One way I can tell that my French is rapidly improving: often when I skype I can only think of the French that refers to the abstract picture in my head. Those of you who skype with me will know this.

Now this is retarded you might think, but it happens to me all the time. Much safer en francais.


En parlant francais, le truc est qu'il y a toujours des mots francais qui me manquent: Mais, bien sur. 

Omelette

Here I am.

Staring down at my plate. No, no, staring is even too soft a word for this.

Eye-balling at the miettes on my assiette.

And then it hits me.

Why the fuck did I cook omelette?

I hate omelette.

To be fair, it's not really an omelette. You'd think that it was more of a really sad, handmade attempt at an ommlette. If I was an amputee, say with no arms whatsoever (a bit like that man I saw the other day at the Belleville Markets), it would be acceptable to call it an omelette.

Earlier, in one of those inspired moments, I grab three or four eggs, my 250 EUR/kilo chives, a tomato and a too generous amount of blue vein cheese. I mix it all together. It looks like liquid magic. This is going to work out, methinks. In fact it will be so delicious and irrestible that if I lived in pre-revolutionary France, it would be the kind of dish that you would only present before King Louis'.

I cook it on one side and a nice bottom skin forms. As I go to turn it over, I realise that I have no egg slice. None at all. This is what happens when you get to a CROUS appartment and have not been informed that there is no cutlery, towel, bed linen etc. You continually have to go out and buy kitchenware.

Not to worry, says that high-pitched optimistic voice in my head. Just use a wooden spoon and you'll be John. That's not actually an expression, but I take my lead from Hamish and Andy.

It's ok, I'll just use my wooden spoon.

This is diaster. I've turned it on itself and now it will burn on the outside and be an eggy goo.

There is only one sad, but enivitable solution. I, in a staccato manner, flail the wooden spoon around the pan and end up with something that highly ressembles dog sick. Well, if dog sick had a much too large percentage of blue vein cheese in it.

I eat it anyway, but if I'm being honest, the blue vein just takes over. I discover that it cannot be tamed even with pan-fried bread (this is what happens when you fry stale french bread, because you have no toaster).

And at the end, when the optimistic voice fades to a whisper, another voice, but much more domineering and bass snickers and vocalises (also probably not a word) snidely a certain doomful expression.

HEAVE HO!

Life Lessons/Arrivee

J'ai arrived a Paris il y a trois jours et je suis en train de decouvrir "la cite de l'amour". 

I can't believe how amazing this city is. It's funny but I didn't really think about the fact that I was going to PARIS.

Oh yeah, sure, one says Paris is incredible, there's nothing like it and it's true, but saying it and feeling it are two very different sentiments.

And I have been here three times before, but I've never discovered it for myself sans les parents. At times I wish I had my mother's skirts to hide behind I mean, I'm a strong independant black woman. Shyness, laziness? I think in my case, possibly yes.

There is a syndrome that some Japanese people have when they come to Paris and it's not as good as they expected and they get ill (sif, bro). I sort of have the opposite. As someone who knows a lot about Paris, I am very pleasantly surprised how appreciative/exultant/content/amazed I feel when I walked around Paris yesterday. I did a very epic actual >10km walk.

"I noticed a profound life lesson weaved into the [film, Bridesmaids]. The main character, Annie, has a series of “setbacks” as her best friend is preparing to get married.
As her friend’s wedding day approaches, [she] struggles — until one of the other bridesmaids confronts her: “I don’t associate with people who blame the world for their problems,” says Megan to Annie. “The world isn’t the problem… YOU are the problem. But you are also the solution.”

And then Megan proceeds to tackle Annie and pin her against the couch. “What are you DOING?” screams Annie to the husky woman tackling her. “I’m your LIFE, Annie. FIGHT BACK!” yells the bridesmaid in Annie’s face. Eventually, she finds the will to fight back"

http://creatingnewnormal.wordpress.com/2011/05/14/the-choice-to-survive/ 

I watched this move on the plane Perth-Singapore leg of the trip, and this scene now seems really, really relevant to me right now.

I am finding this really inspiring- especially when I'm feeling helpless and pathetic. I didn't come to France to be pathetic or shy or incompetant or afraid. But I have felt like this in the past couple of days.

It's partly because of the jet lag, and hugely because I keep letting my hunger levels go to critical point. No, I'm not becoming anorexic, it's just that I drift into irregular patterns and also I'm a big, fat lazy asshole. Just kidding, but I can be very lazy about doing things I need to do, like eating. Thank God for my parents or I would have starved long ago. When there is only ONE you don't really go to much effort as you don't need to impress yourself. I have noticed this when I have been at home alone while my parents have been away.

Right now, I can hear people on the street riding bikes and talking and motorbikes, and frequently these french sirens that ring out (there's a hospital 50m away beyond the end of Rue Pierre Nicole).

I am wondering whether I feel lonely? Is it better because I'm an only child?

I'm also being very miserly. I refuse to buy anything at a brasserie/cafe until I have a french bank account as I feel a little anxious about the fact that I only have 1000 EUR on the bank card and I have to pay a deposit of about 900 EUR for my accommodation demain matin.

Thank God the CROUS (accommodation for French/Parisian residents/students) is in the next street.

I have a really awesome location- you would have seen this if you have been following me on fb- and although I haven't really been getting out for ages at a time, but then I do major exploring when I am out. 

I was able to get a Navigo Pass today, which took lots of fiddling. I couldn't find where to get photos done (they don't do them at pharmacies here like in Australia) so I walked all the way down the Boulevard St-Michel very grumpily as I missed lunch and some of breakfast due to a) napping, b) throwing up after a coughing fit = sadface.

I found the crowds very irritating.

I finally was able to get the passport photos, but then they were the wrong size so had to get them done again. Mind you I need both sizes probably with all the bureaucracy here.

Went to Fnac and tried to buy a phone but they said that I needed a French Bank Account!?! What the fuck, hey. I resorted to saying that that's very French, but not nastily. The salesperson agreed with me, but said that other things here are very good.

Like street drinking for instance. I think that that's very civilised. People don't go stupid here with alcohol like they do in Perth. I've only seen one drunk here and he was a sans-abri (without nest=homeless person) anyway.