Arles and Carmargue

Timetabling is very annoying but I think through all the chaos, I have some direction now. Hoping to still take Russian although I know people say that is a tad ambitious.

Friday the uni organised a bus trip to Arles and a few small towns in the Carmargue (Les Baux, St-Maries-de-la-Mer) and generally, despite it being a grey morning everyone seemed to be in good spirits. I did get a freak out meeting this over-enthusiastic American student who I suspect may be in one of my classes... she had already received the reading list and was promptly reading all the books before class started. I feel like the next two weeks I need to chop and change my classes - can't commit to anything yet, especially if I can avoid it, reading Proust in French.


Arles inspired Van Gogh, it is also where he cut his ear off. The story goes he handed it to a prostitute. Poor woman. A new story emerged that it was cut off by none other than fellow artist Paul Gauguin during a drunken fight; this cover fabricated to save his (Gauguin's) reputation as an artist. Regardless, I can see why Van Gogh would be inspired. It's right next to the Rhone river and there are several Roman ruins side by side with Gallic architecture. It's pretty stunning and was perhaps more so in his day.

Night outs this week. I have tried Vodka jet, which tastes like mouthwash. I went to the ladies night as I did before, met someone from Perth, it tripped me out. Last night there was a lot of rose wine, a lot of Usher pumping in the underground club and generally the same hot mess of sweaty bodies. I actually needed to squeeze past this guy and he was drenched in it. Persistence continues however there was a lowlight this week, someone ACTUALLY fulfilled the stereotype and ponged of garlic. Despite the free beer, I am getting a little disenchanted and know next time to offer a mint to the offending party.

"The oracle said wander"

I think I ought to start calling my blog posts by other name to make it a little bit more coherent than Aix 1... numbers ascending. So today was perhaps the closest I have gotten to actual classes. I tasted French university administration and to tell you the truth, I don't want another bite. Think running around aimlessly, filling out stacks of pointless forms and reading fine print. All for someone who won't say exactly it is you need to do or how to get from A to B.

It's orientation week for my university and yet no mention of anything to expect. Or directions for those lacking it, such as myself. I left the apartment before 9am, for the seminar at 9.30am. I got to the actual university after 10.30am. It's a smallish city. The reason? My faculty is perhaps the hardest to reach and despite asking fellow pedestrians, most had no idea where it was. Makes sense, I am on exchange for arts, most students at the uni tell me it is a forgettable and particularly ugly building housing many bull**** degrees.

I eventually got help from a 70 year old man who was sauntering along with a friend, I ended up getting frog-marched up the road with a running commentary of the fabled Mistral. That is the local name for the gale winds that make Aix, and Provence, a wild country upon the onset of winter. I laughed that back home no one would be complaining about rain, but it's impossible for them to understand. Weather in Provence is beautiful year-round, and they aren't trapped in an eternal drought like Oz.

In other news, persistence - a good trait? I have had to block calls all weekend and generally keep a very low profile to detract some unwanted attention. Not the first time this has happened, nor I doubt the last. I have dyed my hair a few shades lighter (though to be honest I don't see much improvement) and cut it for good measure. I shall embrace the Jackie-O sunglasses in weeks to come. Until then euro (s)trippers, stay naughty and get into that booze, assessment time is nearly over.

Non sequitors - Aix

It is the magical hour of seven minutes to 6am.

Quotes of the evening: "Where are you from? Wow, you don't dance like an asian. You dance pretty well"

Ouch, for all my asian brothers and sisters out there.

Aix

What a week it has been since I got here! Amazing food, wonderful people... and a war against mosquitoes.

Clubs in Aix are ... moist. First night I was taken out, it rained. Southerners are not used to the rains at all, and they have a reason to I suppose, it's lovely weather all year round. Running on cobblestones in torrential rain at 2am, not a fantastic idea. In heels no less.

Neither is wearing the same heels while hurrying home for that eight o-clock walk of shame. Masochist? Perhaps. I took my heels off once and glass cut me. Lovely.

I tried Pastis, the drink of the south and have decided it tastes like toilet water.

Last hours in Paris

Yesterday was my last morning in Paris. I was somewhat sad to leave, I can't lie, despite the fact my bank card feels raped, it really is an awesome city. I also encountered my first rude Parisian. See, I feel as though the kind dwellers of Paris get a really bad rep, and maybe this reputation just gets spun out like crazy by everyone elsewhere. My father being a strong believer that there are french people and then there are Parisians. I was finding the latter to be very nice and helpful. This was however until I met this ticket seller in Gare du Nord metro.

Seller: Don't give me 20 euro, I only have coins to give you change with
Me: Madame, I apologise but all I have is this 20 euro note
Seller: I don't care. Use your credit card.
Me: pulls out mastercard. Instantly gets denied in the machine
Seller: I bet you did it wrong do it like this
*card gets denied again*
Seller: wtf is wrong with your card
Me: this is why I need to pay with cash Madame

I was already really late to meet some friends at this point and stressed/tired under the 10kg+ of luggage on my back. So I did the unthinkable. I accidentally "Tutoyé"[d] her. Blog readers who don't know French, that means I accidentally stopped using the massively polite second person form of address and used the more colloquial one.
 
I should have said, since she was a particular bitch:

« Avez-vous des pièces madame? » (have you got any spare change in coins?)

Instead what came out of my mouth was this. Reserved for only people you know.

« As-tu des pièces? »

She went completely ballistic:
« C'EST QUOI ÇA?! qu'est-ce que vous avez dit mademoiselle? QU'EST-CE QUE VOUS AVEZ DIT?! JE NE SUIS PAS VOTRE AMIE. NE ME TUTOYEZ PAS »
(WHAT?! what did you say miss? WHAT DID YOU SAY. I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND. YOU CANNOT BE SO FAMILIAR WHEN YOU TALK)

I apologised profusely. Maybe if I had more than 2hrs sleep the night before I would have been able to avoid this mistake, one that I stopped making when I was about 16. I clearly messed with the wrong bitch. She finally gave me my ticket after berating me for over 10 minutes plus I suspect having a wank under the table since she ignored me part of the time and I didn't see her hands...

Walking away, I was sad I didn't throw the last word at her.
"Oui madame, vous avez raison. Vous n'êtes pas mon amie car mes amis ne sont pas aussi moches que vous, salope"

Google translate that one if you need to - it may not come out stellar. I think this may be one of my sincerest regrets in not getting the last word.

Paris

I have been wandering around like a waif, days have begun at 12pm and I have been sleeping in the morning. Cafe cremes, croque madames, sunglasses and walking down winding streets with purpose. It's like I am the star of a rip off Audrey Hepburn film.

Went and ate lunch at Pigalle and upon leaving the man working there said: arigato gozaimas. I couldn't resist correcting him: je ne suis PAS japonaise. He seemed moderately apologetic and I shouldn't really expect anything more. Ignorant fuckwits are everywhere, George st sydney is no exception.

Need to buy my TGV ticket to Aix. Have kept forgetting, which is easy to do considering I am still homeless.

Amsterdam/Paris

I had magic mushrooms for the first time and completely freaked out of my mind. It may not have been the greatest of ideas as my hosts were due to meet a dutch friend that evening and got me to come too. He was pretty straight laced and was the receiving end of many praises about my mum; what he must have thought about me I dread to think.

My mind became an ocean. They said that the hallucintions make you somehow learn more about yourself. I felt paranoia; accutely. People around me shimmered like an illusion or waves of heat in sunlight. I had to keep touching myself to realise I was still here and not drifting off into some abyss. When people spoke; it was like I was several leagues below the sea. What I can say is that it has given me a lot to write about; inspired me somehow.

I am now in Paris; staying at Montmatre. I walked around the basilique sacre coeur; had a man from guinea bissau stop me to make a bracelet for me, drank a strong coffee and checked out the Salvador Dali museum. No idea what is happening tonight; hopefully something noteworthy! To be honest; I am a bit jaded about Paris - to me; it is like any other big city. Sure it has charm but certain things make it hugely overrated, like the fact everything is so pricey.