The Flying Adventures of DOUG

I suspect not many people play Quake on this computer. I am terrible at it: I only narrowly beat the bot on the level just above easiest. There's no way I should be getting high scores, unless my score is the only one...

At least that game was in English.

The reason for this time-wasting is that Dad and I are moping around Bergerac on a rainy day waiting for 4 o'clock when we will meet our contact at MacDonald's. Dad couldn't understand him over the phone and kept asking him to spell "Magdonarrz" even after Jean had said, "You know, ze fast food restaurant." Of course, being France, there is only one MacDonalds in the vicinity and it's not even within the town limits. Even in Perigueux, which is the capital of this region, there were only two MacDonalds, and they were well out of the city centre. I'm not sure why we're not meeting back at the warehouse or here in Bergerac. It's all very cloak-and-dagger.

He wants to photocopy my passport so they can see what sort of visa I have. I don't see how that will help, as it's just a standard entry stamp from getting off the ferry at Calais. It's all a wee bit confusing. He wants to show us the accommodation too, apparently, which I guess means that there is accommodation, which is a good thing. Pity I still don't actually know if I have a job yet...

I was very disappointed with my last book. So I've left it behind in the hotel room for someone to read or use as toilet paper. Unfortunately, that means I'm down to reading Harry Potter for the fourth time (third this trip) or starting my own novel. I think I'll go for the latter. I have a new notebook, which I will mysteriously refer to as Notebook 6. It should be ideal, as it has about 300 pages. That's certainly enough to start.

Speaking of movies not to see, I think Hell Boy is probably top of the list. Unless you go to see it in French, which (I can vouch for this) adds a certain novelty value and relieves the viewer from the trial of actually understanding the idiotic things that are being said. The best bit was a corpse that spoke in an unknown tongue, translated as French subtitles which I could read and actually understood!!! It said, "Go that way, red monkey!" and, "I prefer being dead." Inspiring stuff.

I had dinner for 3,67 euros last night, from the supermarket, which is fantastic value for this country considering I had a nice Tabouleh salad with chicken in it, a large portion of cheese and two big apple pastries. I saved some of the cheese and one pastry for breakfast this morning, so actually, it fed me for two meals, which is SUPER good value. Yesterday was a good day because I found and bought the second shirt I have ever found in my life that fit me!!! It's super cool and cost 31,30 euros, which is about 60NZD. That's just on the expensive side of what I would pay for a shirt back home, and back at the hotel I discovered it was 50% off from 61,30 euros, so I was stoked. Blah blah blah. Not much is happening at the mo, as you can probably tell. I hope to have some real news later with regards the job, so we'll see what happens. I wish the NZ and French governments would agree on what agreements they may or may not have already made. Gah.

Apparently "Crust" is a desirable quality. And yes, Europe has paprika flavoured chips (it means capsicum). They're really good. Ste-Foy-la-Grande.

This massive tower used to be part of a circular Roman temple. Imagine it surrounded by pillars supporting a big roof, with steps in front. Perigueux.

The amazing Cathedral of Perigueux on a day when I wished I had taken Mum's advice and packed the mini-collapsible umbrella she got me...

Vanity shot... the Griffon-dog-thing is such a poser. Toulouse.

I call this one, "Toilet." Toulouse.

Is that a donkey? Toulouse.

It sure is. Toulouse.

This is what greets me when I get off the metro in Toulouse's centre-ville. Nice.

Edit 3/9/04: Reordered these. I got them mixed up the first time.

Today has been frustrating.

This morning I did very little after my big day yesterday. I finished Harry Potter (again) and started my new book, which isn't as good as I had hoped. I used the free computers at the hostel, which are good except that they have no sounds and no access to the CD drive, so I couldn't send photos or listen to my new CDs.

At about 4:30 I came into town to find somewhere where I could send photos and listen to music. It's now quarter to seven, and I have just sat down at this computer. The first internet place I went to had no headphones, the second (my usual) was closed for Saturday. The third had headphones but the internet connection was down. The fourth had no computers... I continued to search for two hours. I stopped to look at my map, started walking again and totally caned my shin on a little bollard that was so low and close to me that I hadn't seen it. My eyes watering, I tried to walk on normally, humming The Lord's My Shepherd. After a couple more disappointments, I found the place I'm at now. It has headphones, and I listened to my beautiful CD for about 10 minutes while checking email until the computer crashed just as I started updating this blog. Apparently the computers here can't handle playing music, so the guy doesn't want me to play my CDs, after all that. This is also the most expensive place I've found; I only came here for the headphones. Finally, ironically, the keyboard is an English one and I keep on making frustrating mistakes and forgetting where keys are after spending the last three weeks getting used to (and complaining about) French keyboards.

Yesterday
was a pretty cool day. I got round two galleries, the botanic gardens, heaps of backstreets, bought a new book and two CDs from the best little music shop in the world. It was good to have so much time to myself, just like wandering around town at home, taking as much time as I wanted and hurrying off when I got tired of wherever I happened to be.

Le Salon de Musique
is very cool. It's kind of like Radar Records in Christchurch, but with a wider selection, better organisation and less cramped (sorry Meels!). It's so amazing: you can find almost anything there, even stuff that is less common or impossible to find in New Zealand. I asked for Shostakovich, and got his 5th symphony played by the Leningrad Orchestra. I've BEEN THERE!!! You want Liszt's piano concertos? You have about seven options of recordings, ranging from 10 to 20+ euros. Satie? About nine options, including what must almost be his complete piano works in a set.

However, my prize finds were the Franck Martin Messe (of which there are about two recordings in the world) and this AMAZING cd of music from Milan in the early 17th century. It's by a French chamber choir called... actually, I'm not sure, but I think the cd is called Nova Metamorfosi. Unless that's the name of the group... anyway; it's simply amazing. I can't wait to play it to people (Rich and Meels, please forgive me in advance for boring you to death with endless playings).

Les Abattoirs and le Musée des Augustins
are the galleries I went to yesterday.
Le Musée is full of fragments of ancient church sculptures, fragments of Roman buildings, classical sculpture from various eras and a massive collection of circa Renaissance paintings. The big highlight was seeing another real Rubens (who I studied briefly last year).
Les Abattoirs used to be the city freezingworks (hence the name) but has been converted into a modern art gallery. It was pretty amazing.

Yesterday ended up being a long day.

I applied for a job at a pub called the Melting Pot, but was turned down because they were looking for long-term workers. I didn't mind; I was kind of nervous about working in a pub anyway as I usually avoid them, but I was also kind of keen for the experience... c'est pas grave.

Things are so up and down at the moment. Good one morning, terrible in the afternoon, great in the evening... it's disconcerting, but I am confident it will all settle.

I'm going to listen to my cd anyway. Too bad if the computer crashes. Oh, and I'm sending some more photos tonight, so they should be up soonish thanks to the incredible efficiency and willingness of Nathan von hesslehof, without whom no visual aids to my flying adventure would be available. Thanks Nath! Man, last time I sent him photos I had such a mare; got them all mixed up and had captions on the wrong photo, etc. but somehow Nathan managed to sort them all out and get them on here in the right order with the right captions. What a star!

That's the metro I have to catch to get into le Centre-Ville of Toulouse from the hostel where I'm staying: à direction de Basso Cambo. The metro reminds me of Singapore because it is so efficient, so quiet and so clean. It does not remind me of London, for the same reasons.

Our hostel is really nice. It's only 13 euros per night (pp), plus 2 euros for le petit-déjeuner. Dad and I have a room to ourselves, with two nice, comfortable single beds, cupboards for storage, toilet and seperate shower-and-washbasin. French for washbasin is lavabo, which always makes me think 'loverboy'... The building is new and everything is clean and secure, AND the windows are like the cool Slovenian windows which can swing sideways on hinges at the side, or down vertically on hinges at the bottom. It's hard to explain.

Unfortunately, we had yet another mission-through-hot-sun-with-heavy-backbacks (sacs à dos) to get to the hostel, and ended up going about half a kilometre too far up the road. It was because our map wasn't very good, really! (Dad was navigating) We got there eventually, though, and stowed our stuff, had a quick rest, then headed out to explore the town of:

TOULOUSE!
So far, I really love this town. It's one of the major university towns of France (ie. there are multiple universities here), as well as being France's fourth largest city. Consequently, there is HEAPS to see here: the disjointed Cathedral, several unique churches, lots of galleries and theatres; as well as the atmosphere that a large student population brings to a town: second hand shops, bookshops everywhere (including English bookshops!!), little eateries, poetry readings, and a thin layer of greasy dirt over the whole lot. Very cool.

The streets are often narrow and semi-pedestrian, and you never know whether the street you're about to enter will contain a grungy music shop, army surplus store and clothing from 1920 to today, or designer boutiques full of Louis Vuitton, and lots of names I've never heard of before. There are little squares scattered all over the place (although actually a lot of them are triangles), and most of them have a fountain or monument or piece of garden.

Green spaces are not hard to find; there's an enormous roundabout whose middle is a really nice, shady, quiet park with classical statues and a massive fountain, and across the river is a stretch of very peaceful grass along the bank with trees and beige gravel pathways and park benches. We saw a jetboat go past on the river towing a wake-boarder.

If I had more time (and a ton of money) I would like to hang around here and check out all the crazy performances that go on around the city. The opera house here is one of the most prestigious in France, and Toulouse is well known for putting on unusual shows. There seems to be a big Jazz following here as well, although I haven't found anything to back that up yet...

Me:
Anyway, I'm doing ok. I was getting a bit glum a couple of days ago; missing friends and feeling a bit adrift at sea. Now I'm fine, after praying (in two languages, cool huh?) and reading and talking to Mum on the phone! When you're so far away from everything familiar, you have days like that. Mind you, you have days like that at home too, sometimes!

My French is definitely improving. On our last night in Cahors I met a guy at the hostel who is a med student. He was walking part (about 200km, I think) of the pilgrimage route to Santiago di Compostella. We got talking, and decided to go watch the Liberation Day fireworks in one of the town squares. It was really cool, we wandered around town (we were early for the fireworks) chatting in both broken languages for about an hour. He didn't speak much English and I didn't speak much French, but it worked ok. That's the second med student I've met on my trip so far...

Now:
Today we have just spent the day (so far) exploring the city a bit more. It's been overcast, which is good, because the further South we go the hotter it gets. I think I'm getting a tan, but I still feel mega-pastey next to all the super-brown French people. Actually, a lot of them are pastey too, but there are lots of naturally dark people who put my best tanning efforts to shame without even trying.

I bought new deoderant today, but the only anti-perspirant I could find in "Petit Casino" (don't worry, it's a mini supermarket) was Nivea women's stuff with moisturisers and girly things added. Seems to be doing the trick though, and my armpits feel so soft and silky...

Well, take care!

I am in Cahors, and Cahors is cool.

It's a town a bit South of Perigueux with a popluation of 25000 and the third most photographed landmark in France. The river Lot does a big elbow twist and almost meets up with itself, and Cahors lies in the loop. Although it's small, it seems really prosperous, with big squares and fountains and statues, and a beautiful old cathedral. There are tons of old buildings and the vista along the river as you walk into town from our camping ground is really something, with towers and tiled roofs reflected in the water.

We arrived on Saturday and grossly underestimated the distance from la gare (train station) to the camping ground. It was the hottest part of the day and by the time we got there and set up camp, all I wanted to do was strip off and lie in the sun reading Harry Potter. I kept my shorts on, but everyone over here wears speedos, so noone would have noticed if I'd gone right down to underwear.

On Saturday night I went and saw Mozarts Requiem in the cathedral. It was pretty bad, but they got a standing ovation anyway. At the concert I met an Aussie girl called Fern who is a musician too, so that was cool. She's living in Cahors for the year, attending a French high school even though she's finished school in Australia. It's some sort of Rotary exchange... She showed me round a bit after the concert to some of the main sights of the town. The main one was the famous bridge (that's the well-photographed monument), which looked supercool at night all lit up. It's the only fortified bridge in France that still has all it's towers and stuff, and it's in pretty awesome shape. I got some photos of it yesterday from the riverbank, with cool reflections. Then she took me to meet some British friends of hers. It was really fun; it's been a while since I hung out with a crowd of young people. I woke Dad up at 1:30 when I got back to the tent...

Man, yesterday was so hot. We did stuff in the morning and early afternoon, but eventually it got too much and we just limped from shady patch to shady patch back to the camping ground and wilted into soggy heaps on the ground. I read more Harry Potter in the sun, this time in my "speedos"; don't worry Mum, I'm not sunburnt again, although my shoulders have just started peeling a wee bit from the last time...

We ate pizza made on the spot by a man in white teeshirt, shorts and sweatbands and a blue truck who came round to the camp ground. This meant we didn't have to walk back into town (yes!). There is a swimming pool at the camp, but I don't really like crowded pools, so I headed off down the river with my gear and swam out to a wee island that has a sandy-silty beach at one end. From there I swam up and down the river as though I was doing lengths. Man, it was so nice. The water was really cool and the sun was just behind the hill. I just swam until I got tired, then walked back dripping and had a shower. I wrote outside until it got too dark, then moved inside and sat at the bar with a hot chocolate, listening to all the men playing petanque outside (they really do play it everywhere) and watching odd snatches of someone's old wedding video that was playing on the TV. I recognised a few people from around the camp, so I guess a lot of people know each other. I stayed until the men started coming in for their beers, and soon after took myself off to bed. The bar was getting crowded anyway.

And now it's today, and here I am. We're shifting to the Youth Hostel for tonight, where the management are apparently really nice and the beds are comfy, even though the building is a bit "funky," to quote my American friend. Apparently "funky" means scody. Woah, is that how you spell scody? I never wrote it down before... any suggestions?

Fern sent me a text and signed it Fernarita, which I guess is her full name; hence the title of this post.

Today I am in Perigueux and it is "cold". This means that it is about 19 or 20 degrees, but it has been raining and the sun is behind the clouds. I'm wearing my jeans. Actually, I'm wearing my jeans because my all-purpose 3/4 length pants are in the wash again after I spilled bits of kebab on them, not because it's "cold". I only washed them a couple of days ago.

There is an attractive purple line running from the top of the flat screen of this computer to the bottom, dividing the screen neatly so that something less than two thirds lies on one side, and slightly more than a third lies on the other. I wonder what caused that? It's profoundly disturbing not to be able to say that the line lies "one quarter" or "one third," or even "one half" of the way across the screen; it is unquantifiable and it's bugging me.

Last night we slept in what my Dad described as a real French hotel room. Our window looked out on a tiny space bordered on three sides with concrete walls, and on the other side with a narrow patch of sky. There were leaves rotting at the bottom. The light was dim and swarthy. The cold tap squealed at multiple high pitches when running. The beds were...

...BAD

They were great monstrous things with high metal heads and feet, like beds from old psychiatric hospitals. They were so floppy they almost folded in half every time you put weight on them. I had to sleep on an angle with my feet pulled up and gripping onto the bolster tightly, lest I slip softly down and be smothered by the gaping, springless mattress. I have a sore back. Actually, my sore back is from sitting hunched over for hours on end reading Harry Potter on the ground, or sitting on my pack, at the camping ground in Ste Foy. The window of the toilet was directly opposite our window (on an angle) and you could hear every excruciating, humiliating sound with perfect clarity. I think I'll aim for fake or unreal, or even imaginary French hotel rooms from now on.

However: Perigueux is really cool. Ha, when I write "Perigueux" I think to myself, Perry gee you ee you ex. There are ruins everywhere, including a 1st century Roman arena that I haven't seen yet, but we'll probably go there today. Also, we shifted to the youth hostel today, where we are (so far) the only people in our four-bed room, and there is a merry social area downstairs with comfy chairs and a café-bar and a cafeteria. I have spent an hour there already, reading Catch 22 ostentatiously to try and entice any lurking English-speakers into conversation. No luck so far.

Looks like Dad is ready to go. The sun is out and the roads have dried already. Perhaps it will be hot again afterall, and I'm in my jeans...

View from hostel window in Ljubljana, Slovenia.


Angel of Victory... or Peace... or something, in Vienna, Austria.


House of the Robber-Baron. Somewhere in Slovenia.


"A man whose legs are fish tails offering a woman a big fish, or maybe a kiss from said big fish. I don't think she wants it..."


Priests at the door of their church, which looks like a bomb went off inside because the walls are bare and broken and the stone decorations are missing or ruinous. They are applauding our choir as we rehearse in the town square of Sopron, Hungary.


A photo of girls from the choir all trying to take photos of the rest of us, who are all lined up on the steps of our hostel in Budapest, Hungary.


The white, fairy-tale battlements at a church on a hill overlooking Budapest, Hungary.


Trevor (girl from the choir) and I looking nonchalant and slightly bored on the spectacular fairy-tale battlements high on the hill overlooking Budapest, Hungary. Behind us (across the river Danube) are the massive and truly spectacular parliament buildings, which are *actually* totally AMAZING. Do we care? Apparently not; we've seen it all.


My buddies in business class, when we got bumped up because there wasn't enough room on the plane and we were last to check in. We drank Champagne because we could.


My excercise clothes for early morning physical warm-ups during the competition week (Nova Gorica/Gorizia, Slovenia/Italy). I think they really bring out my eyes. Actually, it was a dare, and I got caught on camera doing stretches and Tai-Chi by the documentary crew... There's another thing to pray about...


Doug in Concarneau.

Dear hello!

First things first: if possible, when commenting on my blog, please post under a name I will recognise rather than anonymously. So far I think I know who every comment is from and I appreciate them all!!! It just diminishes the warm-fuzzy feeling when I'm not sure who it's from. Those of you who have used "feeeheeeelings" and "Doug-iski," don't worry, I knew who they were from!

Now, to explain the title...

Today Dad and I went on a massive mission to Gardonne, which is only 15km down the road from Bergerac (I have already mentioned that I'm in Bergerac at the moment, haven't I?). Sounds not far, eh? Try walking it. Actually, we walked 4 or 5 kilometres and then managed to hitch a ride with a very nice Frenchman who was transporting furniture to his new house. Then we asked around the town about work in orchards, had little luck, and started walking back to Bergerac with the intention of popping in on orchards we had seen on either side of the road while whizzing past in the comfort of Michel's (the nice Frenchman) van.

So, we walked and we walked. And we walked and we walked. Eventually we came to a place down a long driveway, where very brown, scary-looking workers were pouring out of the woodwork. We hung around until the chef arrived, only to be told that the team was complet (full).

So, we walked and we walked. And we walked and we walked. Eventually we came to a lane where it was said we could find work. So, we went down to some big sheds and asked around. The man told us we were in the wrong place, and needed to go further down the main road to get to the office.

So, we walked and we walked. And we walked and we walked. Eventually we came to a little house next to masses of heavily laden apple trees. It looked pleasant and friendly, so we went round the back and knocked. Noone answered. So we rang the bell. Noone replied. So we tried both again. Again, noone answered and noone replied. So we waited. There was a little welcome plaque inside the door that said, "Welcome," in English. There were pink flowers and shady trees, and a little lizard living under a bush who came out to bask in the sun, then dashed away inside every time I got close enough to take a photo. We decided to knock again, and this time we got a reply! An old man, who had been asleep told us to look for Monsieur Herman, on the second road to the right, back the way we came.

So, we walked and we walked. And we walked and we walked. And pretty soon we saw that we were heading back to the same place we had just been, with the big sheds. I thought, Hmmm, are we going in circles and wasting our time? But into my head popped the image of the welcome sign in English, and a small voice said, Trust his directions! referring to the old man. So we did, and returned to the sheds asking for Monsieur Herman. And who did we find?

Find out in the next, hare-razing installment of: The Flying Adventures of DOUG!!!

Just kidding. We found, not Monsieur Herman, who it turns out is a massively wealthy man who owns the whole company and has a big manor house with two gardeners. Nor did we find the man (with a tractor) who had told us we were in the wrong place before. Instead, we found the manager of the orchards, whose name is Jean, and who speaks English, has been to New Zealand, thinks New Zealanders are really nice (more cultured and SMARTER than Aussies, who he described as "rough"), AND says that if he was ever to move countries, it would be to New Zealand. So we got on alright. He offered to talk to Monsieur Herman for us and hoped to be able to organise work for us, as well as accommodation (which they no longer offer but may still exist as they used to hire packs of Spaniards many years ago), and he even offered to find out what I might need to do to get a student working visa. He should get back to us by the end of the week. We have his phone number in case he doesn't... Then we left.

So, we walked and we walked. And we walked and we walked. And eventually we got sick of walking and tried (successfully) to hitch again. We were picked up by a man going on holiday to Sarlat who dropped us just outside Bergerac. So we had to walk a few ks back into town, and the point of the story (explaining the title) is that, with all that walking and because I was wearing a singlet, I got terribly sunburnt. Even though I had put on sunscreen (for once, although not on my arms and shoulders). EVEN on my nose, where I had put HEAPS of sunscreen because it is always the first thing to burn. I'm sure none of you are surprised. I do have a reputation for carelessness in the sun. I know that was a slightly round-about explanation, but didn't you learn a lot on the way? I think I killed about twenty birds with that stone (yes, ok, so the stone was the size and approximate shape of Texas, and almost as interesting).

So, I'm very red, but my hair looks cool, because I had a cold shower and dried my hair, then did absolutely nothing and it just happens to look really cool, kind of like a Japanese cartoon character's hair. It's one of my aims in life to be a Japanese cartoon character, like the ones off Digimon, they're my fave.

You'll all be excited to know that I am sending more photos to Nathan tonight to stick on here. I just discovered that my new camera takes photos that are too "big" to send via email, so from now on I'll be careful to take some lower quality ones that are nice and small.

Note for Ali: I took photos of sunflower fields today!!! Actually, I got one the other day, too, but it was of massive mutant sunflowers that are all seeds and no petals and are the size of the wheels of our old tricycle. Can you say Day of the Triphods (sp?)? The photos today were of nice normal sunflowers.

Anyway, I have absolutely no idea of the time, but it's dark (woops) which means it must be late because the sun doesn't go down until about 10:30 over here.

Gah! You have to press the shift key just to get NUMBERS on this keyboard!!! Otherwise, you get odd symbols, like & é " ' ( - è _ ç à (that was numbers 1 to 0). French keyboards are very dumb.

Miss ya! Bye!

By the way, I have finished Harry Potter already. I finished it yesterday. Silly me, it was supposed to last for ages... It's not like there are English books growing on trees around here. Ah well. Now I've got Catch 22 to start, but I'm putting it off to try and make it last longer. Then I'll have to read Harry Potter again. You have to use the shift key to turn off caps lock on French keyboards. Very dumb.

Love you lots!

That's where I am and that's exactly the most original title I could come up with, which is to say, not at all. I have no idea whether that sentence actually makes sense. I'm tired. English = leaving my brain.

I just read a comment on my last post, and laughed so loudly that the French teenagers who have been whispering at the computer next to me for the last half-hour looked around at me wide-eyed, then went back to whispering. I kept my eyes on the screen and pretended to be a carefree eccentric. If only I hadn't been blushing... Thanks Amelia G.

I'm in Bergerac now, having spent the last three nights in Sainte Foy la Grande, which is not "grande" (big) at all, but so small that there is only one internet place and it's closed for the holidays. Nice town though. I assume there must be a Sainte Foy la Petite, but apparently there are towns all over France called Sainte Foy, so who knows... We were camping in our little tent, which was fine after about 11pm, when it cooled down enough to go to sleep. Last night there was a thunder storm, which was great! Apparently I managed to sleep right through two massive thunder storms during the choir tour, so I'm glad I got to experience one last night. There was a moment just before the storm when I was lying on my back looking up through the trees. The sky had turned dark and you could feel the tension building as leaves began swirling around high up in the trees and birds flew past helter-skelter. I felt a tickle against my right arm and heard the wind rise up suddenly. I rolled onto my left side and covered my head just as a fury of dead leaves and dirt and little sticks pelted against my back, stinging the backs of my arms and neck. Boy, it was cool. It rained huge heavy drops for about an hour as Dad and I sheltered in a sort of empty common room by the toilet block. The thunder sounded like huge sheets of velcroe being torn apart, and cracking wood and gunshots and giants' bellies. Luckily our tent was fine and the rain had stopped by the time we went to bed.

We're looking for work at an orchard, but it's proving a little difficult so far (prayer would be appreciated). We asked near Ste Foy, but all the orchards are gone around there, and now it's mainly vineyards. A man reccommended we try Bergerac, so we went to the ANPE today (don't ask me what that stands for), and all their leads are around Perigeux (sp?), which is about 50km to the North. I like Bergerac though (and sleeping in hotel beds) so I wouldn't mind staying here a couple of nights... We'll see.

Anyway, that's all for now. I may try and get down here again to send some photos. It's less expensive here than some of the other places I've been to, and I got another CD burnt in Concarneau of more recent photos. Biya!

I am in Bordeaux, and not only have I found a British-European plug adaptor (for my British-bought camera which I couldn't recharge), but today I went to an ENGLISH BOOKSHOP!!! So good! Now I have Catch 22 and a Harry Potter to read, which should keep me going for a while. Ah, what a relief. Weirdly enough, I knew I was going to find English books here in Bordeaux. I had set my mind on finding The Goblet of Fire (Harry Potter), and when we came to the shp that's exactly what was on display in the window, with big banners and stuff...

Also, DOUGLAS really is a worldwide phenomenon! You know that photo from Maribor (see earlier post)? Well, I have since found Douglas shops in Russia, London, Rouen, and two in Bordeax, although one was called Mac Douglas (that's one for you, Amelia G!).

Ok, that's all for now.

Wait. Scratch that; reverse it.

It's been a while since I last posted, and I have heaps to write about. Speaking of writing, I've been writing every day in my journal, usually quite a lot, and I'm now well over half-way through, maybe even 3/4! I've found writing almost as effective as reading, for escapism, and far better for sorting through thoughts. In fact, now I very often feel compelled to write, so maybe a career as an author wouldn't be so impossible as I previously imagined.

Anyway, back to the story of my life (of the last few days). I just went and checked what my last post was about and I am seriously out of date!

Rouen: On our last night in Rouen, Dad and I went out for dinner at a little Brasserie. It took us ages to decide where to eat, and then once we had chosen we found out that they didn't start serving dinner until 7pm, so we had to wander around for another 20 minutes (woe was us, we were both hungry and footsore by this time). Once seated, we decided to order the "menu", which means that you pay one flat price and choose one entrée, one plat principale (main) and one dessert from a list of options. What we call a menu in New Zealand - ie. the piece of paper with meals written on it - is called a "carte", hence the term, "à la carte". We both ordered salads for entrée (it's easy to get vege-starved when travelling). Dad ordered salmon for his main, and I thought I liked the look of the word "Andouillette". Don't you think it sounds nice? Such an elegant word! I asked the waiter what it was, but as he spoke no English and I only had my excruciatingly poor French, all the information I took in was that it was something fairly flat (I understood that from his gestures). So I ordered it anyway. When the cutlery arrived and the waiter put down one of those serrated steak knives, I got a bit worried. I thought it might be a horse steak, or something bloody, so Dad (who loves a good flesh-feast) volunteered to swap mains with me if mine turned out to be something I couldn't handle. Ah, poor Dad.

The mains arrived, Dad's salmon looked pretty appetising, and an "andouilette" appeared to be a sausage. I cut it open, and it looked like it was filled with shaved ham. That, and the fact that we were in France made me suspicious enough to request the swap with Dad. We (I should say 'I') waited until the waiter wasn't looking, then swapped plates. I ate the salmon (which, by the way, was delicious) and Dad, taking significantly longer to finish, ate the andouillette. Then we surreptitiously swapped plates back again so that I could eat my fries and Dad his croquettes, and so that I could look innocent in front of the waiter. Dessert was yummy. I had nougat ice cream and raspberry coulis, and I can't remember what Dad had. When we got back to the hotel, we looked up andouilette in Dad's Lonely Planet book, which has a guide to regional French cuisine. An andouilette is a sausage made from pig tripe (basically: pig intestine filled with bits of chopped up pig intestine). It's a bit of a regional delicacy, apparently. Thanks Dad!

Also in Rouen was a free show at night called, "De Monets Aux Pixels". There is a Cathedral in Rouen which was much loved by Monet, and which he painted several times (pictures of it, not the cathedral itself - it's just bare stone). What they did for this show was to project Monet's paintings onto the front of the cathedral, so that painting and real object were seamlessly interposed. There were about 10 or so paintings in total and each stayed up for a few minutes and was accompanied by sounds/music that fitted the different depictions. It was, I can honestly say, one of the most striking and amazing things I have ever seen in my life. Honestly, the crowd was so overwhelmed (myself included) as some of the paintings appeared that they gasped and applauded. The projectors must have been super-powerful, because the coulours remained intense and the picture was perfectly clear, and believe me, this Cathedral is massive! The pictures went right up to the top of it's two huge, assymetrical towers. Ah! It was so amazing! It became hard to tell what was painting and what was cathedral, and some of the paintings were so striking; there was one with intense peacock blues and greens, and intense shadows around the doorwells. Another was grey, white and lots of rusty red that made the cathedral appear to have been painted in blood with cold precision. The last painting was probably the most stunning, an almost pointilist (sp?) work just in black and white that exploited the shade-and-light of the ornate (and creepy) gothic style. Definitely a highlight.

Pontorson: We left Rouen the next day and headed for the quiet village of Pontorson. The only reason this quaint (sweet, but boring) little place has a youth hostel (in fact several hotels and restaurants) is because it lies only a short bus-ride from Mont St. Michel. We stayed here two nights, visiting the Mont on the middle day and leaving on the next. The best thing about staying here was that there were a few English speakers in the hostel, including a Canadian girl called Carol who asked around if people wanted to play cards. It was such a good night! I stayed up with Carol, a French girl called Floren (sp?), a Spaniard called Ouné (that's a total guess at the spelling, I write it differently every time) and another French woman whose name I didn't find out. We played Scum at first. Man, everyone knows that game! All of us already knew how to play, and in Canada it even has the same name. Amazed. Later Floren taught us (mainly me, as I think I was the only one who had never even heard of it) a French card game called Tarot (has NOTHING to do with the reading of the future kind of tarot). This took a wee while, as Floren can understand a little English but doesn't speak any, and it is a very complicated game. Luckily it's a lot like 500, except with an extra suit of 21 cards which is always trumps, a totally different scoring/bidding system and six cards in the kitty (which, by the way, is "chien" in French, which means dog. Funny, huh?), so I picked it up fairly quickly.

Le Mont St Michel is a tidal island (or it was until they built the causeway) on the coast of Normandie, very near the border with Brittany. The first buildings were erected there in the 8th century as a little sanctuary. Then, in the 10th century, Benedictine monks built the first abbey (I think, I could be mixing this up). Pretty soon, they enlarged and improved the abbey until it was a big enough to be a proper monastery. A village began to build up on the island below the abbey and the island became highly fortified. Now pretty much the whole island is surrounded by massive walls and ramparts, and there are more walls and battlements further up. The abbey itself is like a big fortress with a cathedral on top. At the top of the spire is a gilded statue of St Michel, the archangel Michael. The Mont is especially significqnt because it turned back every English attack during the Hundred Years War, which is not at all surprising when you see it. Because of this, it became a symbol of national identity and victory. St Michel is the patron of knights and battle. Definitely worth a visit, especially inside the abbey, which has amazing, beautiful, often very simple architecture. Dad and I got there pretty early, so we were among the first inside. We got to see many of the rooms with no people in them. This was just as well because, by the time we left, the place was crawling with tourists and the day had become scorchingly hot.

Concarneau: is right in Brittany. In the Lonely Planet it said this was a "quiet fishing village", but we have discovered otherwise. We caught the train from Pontorson to Rennes, and from Rennes took the TGV to Quimper, where we had to wait three hours for a bus to Concarneau. We arrived to find a bustling seaside town that reminds us both of Nelson. To me it seems like a resort town, though compared to somewhere like Ibiza or Biaritz, "a quiet fishing village" probably isn't too far off. There is a refreshing cool sea-breeze most of the day, which is a relief, and an old fortified island which is now a busy tourist shopping area with live entertainment like fire jugglers and music. Man, it was so good to hear music! I don't have my discman and I miss is a lot. It was cool music, too; French, but with a strong Celtic influence, which is typical of Brittany. Basically, that means panpipes, mandolin, drums and accordian. Pretty cool.

Funny story: It was at the station in Rennes, I think, when I went to use one of the pay toilets. There was a British family figuring out how to use the toilet, which was a fancy one that cleans itself after you've used it. The wife went in first, did her business, and came out. Now, you have to press a big red button to get out, so the toilet "knows" when one person has left. This lady, however, held the door open so that her husband could go in after her. The door closed with a satisfied sound, and strange, wet, whirring could be heard from within. After a few seconds, a very sheepish looking Brit figured out how to open the door and reappeared, with sodden sandals, just as the cleaning really got underway behind him and shifted from ankle-high strafing to tempestuous, overhead bombardment. He got out just in time.

Funny quote: from the wall of the Cyber Café I am in,

"Please save yours mails all 3 minutes.
Or work out of connection.
Servers, like Hotmail, shoot them when you want to send us."

Wrap-up
You may have noticed that I've been using some of the appropriate accents in the French words written in this post. That's because I'm using a French keyboard. I hate French keyboards. You have to use the shift key to type a full-stop or any numbers. And their letters are in annoying places, so I keep on making mistakes and having to correct them, and it takes me ages to write anything AND this CyberCafé is very expensive. So... I should go!