Baby Scary Party

Leave it to Fédéric and Misun to host an awe­some cos­tume par­ty, even though Halloween was over two weeks ago. They decid­ed to have a par­ty any­way, in a part of town where they only had two trick-or-treaters. There was quite a decent turnout (about 40 chil­dren) with­out hav­ing done any adver­tis­ing, save for a fli­er on their door, and I’m sure they all left tired and full from numer­ous sweets.

Of note is the wood­en cas­tle in the back­yard, which Fédéric built for the kids, and which they quite appro­pri­ate­ly adored.

Europe 2010 travel diaries

France: Day 5, Chartres

I’ve been step­ping out of my com­fort zone. Having far too com­fort­able a life at home meant I grew com­pla­cent. I had no wants, which meant I did­n’t find the same plea­sure in the sim­ple things as I used to. Here, I live with­out a cat, with­out a ukulele, with­out a reg­u­lar chance to show­er, with­out locks on the bath­room doors, with­out speak­ing the lan­guage.

I need­ed to be remind­ed of how oth­er peo­ple live, and expe­ri­ence things I nev­er felt com­pelled to do in Ottawa. It has­n’t been easy. I mem­o­rize French phras­es, and hope no one responds out of a pre­dict­ed path. Even then, I fall back on an English-French dic­tio­nary, and Pouvez-vous par­lez plus lent­ment, s’il vous plaît, just in case. It’s some­thing I’ve been forc­ing myself to do, and at the end of the day I’m nev­er dis­ap­point­ed.

Daty croque monsieur

Various styles of croque-mon­sieur, a grilled ham sand­wich with cheese melt­ed on top of but­tered pain de mie, a pack­aged French bread that’s per­fect for toast­ing. Every bak­ery and fam­i­ly has their own ver­sion of this.

In the back is shred­ded guyère (a medi­um-bod­ied cheese), being sliced is mont d’or (very creamy and salty, and stuck to my teeth), and already halved is Camembert (which was super rich with a smell rem­i­nis­cent of a garbage, but cer­tain­ly did­n’t taste like it…still, I had a hard time get­ting over the smell).

Continue read­ing “France: Day 5, Chartres”…

The Partisan

The Partisan, orig­i­nal­ly titled “La Complainte du par­ti­san” in French, has always been one of my favourite Leonard Cohen songs. The lyrics are from the point of view of a sole par­ti­san secret­ly fight­ing an occu­py­ing force in his coun­try, but I had no idea it was specif­i­cal­ly about the French resis­tance to Nazi occu­pa­tion dur­ing WWII, as the only ref­er­ences to this are in the French vers­es.

You hear of sol­diers nowa­days with iPods and their mur­der mix­es; playlists of heavy met­al, used to keep them moti­vat­ed (or, in some cas­es, inhu­man so they can com­mit inhu­mane acts). I’ve long held the belief that if I was ever fight­ing in a war, this would be my song — the only one I’d lis­ten to, and on repeat — because the nar­ra­tor is so cold and sto­ic in his pur­pose.

Members_of_the_Maquis_in_La_Tresorerie

A group of par­ti­sans join­ing forces with the Canadian army at Boulogne, in September 1944.

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France: Day 3, Chartres

It’s been a great pace so far. No plans, no sched­ule, no goals, no stress. I did­n’t want to cram a bunch of activ­i­ties on this trip; I’d much rather take it easy and enjoy myself, so I can absorb as much of the cul­ture as pos­si­ble.

People would ask me if I was excit­ed to come here, and I could­n’t say that I was, prob­a­bly because there was­n’t any­thing spe­cif­ic I felt com­pelled to see. Sure, I’ll prob­a­bly end up vis­it­ing some of the touristy, must-see sites in Paris, but more impor­tant­ly, I want to live the life, to be a local for a while.

girl buying bread

The defin­i­tive image of France: a young girl dressed smart­ly in cha­peau and tights waves to the bak­er, who comes from around the counter to hold the door for her as she leaves the store. Of uncor­rupt­ed inno­cence, sim­ple rit­u­als, and fresh bread.

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On having a Parisian accent and getting away with saying anything

  • Frédéric: Look, Akio1, at Jeff’s penis.
  • Frédéric (tap­ping on the lens of my cam­era): It’s hard, see?
  • Frédéric: Not like yours.
Akio passes out

After an after­noon of par­ty­ing, Akio does­n’t have enough ener­gy to eat din­ner.

  1. His 4‑year-old son. [↩]