To Google.
This is a regular verb, and hence takes the form googler.
The conjugation is as follows:
Je google
Tu googles
Il google
Nous googlons
Vous googlez
Ils googlent
Babelfish doesn't appear to recognise this. But I suppose that's not surprising.
After all, it's owned by Yahoo.
Showing posts with label france. Show all posts
Showing posts with label france. Show all posts
Monday, 1 September 2008
Saturday, 2 August 2008
Parlay Voo Too
Saturday morning French lessons are great.
It's the highlight of my week at the moment, which either says something wonderful about the place I'm learning it, or it says something a little sad about my life.
No, screw that. Learning another language is terrific.
The amazing thing is how much it's teaching me about English. I've learnt more about English grammar by studying French than I ever learnt by studying English at school.
But it's even more than that.
Going from one language to another is not a simple word-substitution exercise. The meanings subtly change. Statements become loaded. The culture that underpins the language, and the assumptions that go along with it, come out.
Learning another language teaches you that the way you express yourself, and ultimately the way you think and feel, can be controlled by the words you have available.
Orwell knew this, and wove the fact into 1984 with devastating effect.
In learning a language, you learn so much more than words. You learn about a people, you learn about a culture, and you learn about yourself.
It's the highlight of my week at the moment, which either says something wonderful about the place I'm learning it, or it says something a little sad about my life.
No, screw that. Learning another language is terrific.
The amazing thing is how much it's teaching me about English. I've learnt more about English grammar by studying French than I ever learnt by studying English at school.
But it's even more than that.
Going from one language to another is not a simple word-substitution exercise. The meanings subtly change. Statements become loaded. The culture that underpins the language, and the assumptions that go along with it, come out.
Learning another language teaches you that the way you express yourself, and ultimately the way you think and feel, can be controlled by the words you have available.
Orwell knew this, and wove the fact into 1984 with devastating effect.
In learning a language, you learn so much more than words. You learn about a people, you learn about a culture, and you learn about yourself.
Saturday, 19 July 2008
Parlay Voo
This morning my lovely wife and I began French language classes.
For the next five weeks, four hours every Saturday morning (and part of the afternoon) will be spent conjugating verbs, trying to remember the right preposition, and desperately trying to pronounce the letter 'R' without spitting all over the desk.
This is all part of our ill-defined (at the moment) but nevertheless strong intention to move to Paris.
Someday. Hopefully soon.
The next part will be working out how to transport two cats, one terminally grumpy and the other morbidly obese, halfway across the world.
Compared to that, getting the language down will be the easy part.
For the next five weeks, four hours every Saturday morning (and part of the afternoon) will be spent conjugating verbs, trying to remember the right preposition, and desperately trying to pronounce the letter 'R' without spitting all over the desk.
This is all part of our ill-defined (at the moment) but nevertheless strong intention to move to Paris.
Someday. Hopefully soon.
The next part will be working out how to transport two cats, one terminally grumpy and the other morbidly obese, halfway across the world.
Compared to that, getting the language down will be the easy part.
Friday, 4 April 2008
Air
Palais Theatre, St Kilda.
Listening to one of Air's albums is a divinely confusing experience. A mood of consuming tranquility gathers you up and sweeps you along a mesmerising electronic journey that will, by turns, calm you, jolt you, make you feel small and insignificant, then make you feel like you're the centre of the universe.
It's hypnotic. But Air's true genius is in making electronic music that feels somehow perfectly naturalistic.
La Femme D'Argent, the opening track from their 1998 opus Moon Safari loses you on a wet and windswept moor, before the rest of the album takes you on a journey through space, through time and through the darkest recesses of your own love and lust.
Imagine the music of an advanced artificial intelligence, deeply in tune with the human psyche and lovingly producing an aural accompaniment to the range of human emotion.
Each of Air's albums is a masterpiece of complex production and engineering, employing a bewildering array of instruments: electric, electronic, sampled and acoustic.
Because of all this, you might be tempted to think they're just a studio band, but their live show proves otherwise. With banks of keyboards, from the latest Korgs to the earliest Moogs, plus the simple trappings of a garage band, they can recreate that sound in the live space perfectly.
And they do more than just recreate it. They expand on it. They amplify it. The music wraps around you, enters you, lifts you up and carries you far away to a place you've never been before. At some point it stops being a simple concert and becomes a transcendent and meditative experience.
To go in to a show with high expectations is risky, and to have those expectations exceeded is a joy. But this was something even more than that.
It would have been unreasonable to expect what we ultimately took away from this show. I don't think I'll ever see anything quite like it again.
Listening to one of Air's albums is a divinely confusing experience. A mood of consuming tranquility gathers you up and sweeps you along a mesmerising electronic journey that will, by turns, calm you, jolt you, make you feel small and insignificant, then make you feel like you're the centre of the universe.
It's hypnotic. But Air's true genius is in making electronic music that feels somehow perfectly naturalistic.
La Femme D'Argent, the opening track from their 1998 opus Moon Safari loses you on a wet and windswept moor, before the rest of the album takes you on a journey through space, through time and through the darkest recesses of your own love and lust.
Imagine the music of an advanced artificial intelligence, deeply in tune with the human psyche and lovingly producing an aural accompaniment to the range of human emotion.
Each of Air's albums is a masterpiece of complex production and engineering, employing a bewildering array of instruments: electric, electronic, sampled and acoustic.
Because of all this, you might be tempted to think they're just a studio band, but their live show proves otherwise. With banks of keyboards, from the latest Korgs to the earliest Moogs, plus the simple trappings of a garage band, they can recreate that sound in the live space perfectly.
And they do more than just recreate it. They expand on it. They amplify it. The music wraps around you, enters you, lifts you up and carries you far away to a place you've never been before. At some point it stops being a simple concert and becomes a transcendent and meditative experience.
To go in to a show with high expectations is risky, and to have those expectations exceeded is a joy. But this was something even more than that.
It would have been unreasonable to expect what we ultimately took away from this show. I don't think I'll ever see anything quite like it again.
Saturday, 20 October 2007
Paris and Brussells
I've been back home for a few days, so the holiday diary now seems a little superfluous. However, I hate to leave it incomplete.
After leaving Tourtoirac, Kate, Shannon and I hopped a train to Paris. Sarah and Greg were staying in the south for a few more days, before heading off to Spain and Italy.
We arrived in Paris in the late afternoon on Sunday, and would be leaving early on Tuesday morning. So we would have only one full day, and a checklist of things to do. This was to see the three cathedrals: Notre Dame, Sacré Coeur and Sainte-Chapelle, go shopping in Place des Vosges and go to a cemetery. Not really important which one, but we did want to see at least one dead celebrity.
(We ended up going to Montmartre cemetery, because this was the closest to our hotel. Celebrity spotting was limited to Alexandre Dumas and Hector Berlioz. Hmmm. Might try the one with Jim Morrison next time.)
We actually did manage to do all of these things, as well as fit in some overpriced coffee, a nice lunch and a nice dinner. The dinner would have been better if we hadn't been accosted by some obnoxious Aussie tourists who insisted on talking to us about the way Parisians treat their pets, but still.
The cathedrals were all appropriately spectacular, particularly the stained-glass windows in Sainte-Chapelle.
Tuesday morning we took the train north to Brussells, where we farewelled our travelling companion Shannon, who was off to explore Rotterdam and then Berlin.
Brussells was not really what we expected. Being the capital of Europe (apparently) and the home of the UN, I was expecting something like Canberra, or at least The Hague. What we saw was more like Footscray expanded out to an entire city.
This is not necessarily a problem, as I happen to like Footscray. It's just not what I was expecting.
We would be in Brussells for less than 24 hours. The aim (well, my aim) was to bask in all things Tintin as much as possible. Kate had heard about a street market near our hotel, so that seemed like a good place to start.
Once we found it, it turned out to be a combination of people selling very cool vintage furniture and objêts, and others flogging utter unmitigated junk. Seriously, some of the stalls looked like someone had upended their third-drawer-down on a blanket. Not much Tintin, sadly.
But nearby was a Tintin merchandise shop, where we could admire a €3,000 signed poster, cels from the 1980s TV show, and various sketches and whatnot from Studio Hergé. Inspired by this, and receiving directions from the store owner, I then headed out to the comic book museum. (Kate respectfully declined to join me.)
And it was simply fantastic. Comprehensive histories of Belgian and other international cartoonists (lots on Hergé, natch), their creations, and more detail than you might care to know about the development of comic styles over time. Budge, you would have loved it.
When I got back to the hotel, Kate and I went for a wander through the backstreets, as we tend to do. We found Katje's Kitchen, a great little restaurant run by an expat Dutch guy. Great food, great atmosphere. If you find yourself in Brussells, drop in.
Left the next morning for Copenhagen, which will be covered in the next exiting instalment.
And now some photos . . .
Drinks in Paris.
Paris red-light district, featuring the Moulin Rouge. The queue outside goes for blocks.
Saints outside Notre Dame. The fifth from the left looks like my father-in-law Russell. No, really.
Outside Sainte-Chapelle cathedral.
Stained-glass windows inside Sainte-Chapelle.
The view over Paris from the front steps of Sacré Coeur.
My personal shrine. Tintin mural at Brussells Midi train station.
Brussells streetscape.
Dinner at Katje's Kitchen.
After leaving Tourtoirac, Kate, Shannon and I hopped a train to Paris. Sarah and Greg were staying in the south for a few more days, before heading off to Spain and Italy.
We arrived in Paris in the late afternoon on Sunday, and would be leaving early on Tuesday morning. So we would have only one full day, and a checklist of things to do. This was to see the three cathedrals: Notre Dame, Sacré Coeur and Sainte-Chapelle, go shopping in Place des Vosges and go to a cemetery. Not really important which one, but we did want to see at least one dead celebrity.
(We ended up going to Montmartre cemetery, because this was the closest to our hotel. Celebrity spotting was limited to Alexandre Dumas and Hector Berlioz. Hmmm. Might try the one with Jim Morrison next time.)
We actually did manage to do all of these things, as well as fit in some overpriced coffee, a nice lunch and a nice dinner. The dinner would have been better if we hadn't been accosted by some obnoxious Aussie tourists who insisted on talking to us about the way Parisians treat their pets, but still.
The cathedrals were all appropriately spectacular, particularly the stained-glass windows in Sainte-Chapelle.
Tuesday morning we took the train north to Brussells, where we farewelled our travelling companion Shannon, who was off to explore Rotterdam and then Berlin.
Brussells was not really what we expected. Being the capital of Europe (apparently) and the home of the UN, I was expecting something like Canberra, or at least The Hague. What we saw was more like Footscray expanded out to an entire city.
This is not necessarily a problem, as I happen to like Footscray. It's just not what I was expecting.
We would be in Brussells for less than 24 hours. The aim (well, my aim) was to bask in all things Tintin as much as possible. Kate had heard about a street market near our hotel, so that seemed like a good place to start.
Once we found it, it turned out to be a combination of people selling very cool vintage furniture and objêts, and others flogging utter unmitigated junk. Seriously, some of the stalls looked like someone had upended their third-drawer-down on a blanket. Not much Tintin, sadly.
But nearby was a Tintin merchandise shop, where we could admire a €3,000 signed poster, cels from the 1980s TV show, and various sketches and whatnot from Studio Hergé. Inspired by this, and receiving directions from the store owner, I then headed out to the comic book museum. (Kate respectfully declined to join me.)
And it was simply fantastic. Comprehensive histories of Belgian and other international cartoonists (lots on Hergé, natch), their creations, and more detail than you might care to know about the development of comic styles over time. Budge, you would have loved it.
When I got back to the hotel, Kate and I went for a wander through the backstreets, as we tend to do. We found Katje's Kitchen, a great little restaurant run by an expat Dutch guy. Great food, great atmosphere. If you find yourself in Brussells, drop in.
Left the next morning for Copenhagen, which will be covered in the next exiting instalment.
And now some photos . . .
Drinks in Paris.
Paris red-light district, featuring the Moulin Rouge. The queue outside goes for blocks.
Saints outside Notre Dame. The fifth from the left looks like my father-in-law Russell. No, really.
Outside Sainte-Chapelle cathedral.
Stained-glass windows inside Sainte-Chapelle.
The view over Paris from the front steps of Sacré Coeur.
My personal shrine. Tintin mural at Brussells Midi train station.
Brussells streetscape.
Dinner at Katje's Kitchen.
Monday, 15 October 2007
Photos from Tourtoirac
Back online after a bit of a break. Since the last post we've been through Paris, Brussels, Copenhagen, and back to Amsterdam (briefly). Right now I'm sitting in Kuala Lumpur airport waiting for the final leg of the flight home to Melbourne.
Lots of updates to make, but I figured I'd start where I left off.
Not a lot happened during the rest of the stay in Tourtoirac. Activities mainly consisted of visiting other small towns, markets and Cathedrals, and playing cards by the pool.
The chateau in Hautefort was a definite highlight (see previous post) as was the medical museum in Hautefort. The medical museum presented a decidedly creepy history of European medicine over the last 400 years or so, in a building that had variously been used as a hospice for plague patients, and orphanage and a nunnery.
We also visited the caves of Lascaux, which feature an astonishing array of (approximately) 17,000-year old Cro-Magnon cave paintings. They were accidentally discovered in 1940 when a dog being walked through the forest fell into the caves through a hole in the ground. The caves were opened as a tourist attraction a few years later, but closed in the 1960s as exposure to humans has led to a fungus or some such growing on the paintings and destroying them.
Not being keen to let all those tourist dollars disappear, the operators have meticulously recreated the caves and the paintings (known as Lascaux II) and run guided tours through them. It's sterling work, and if they didn't tell you they were recreations you wouldn't necessarily pick it.
On the Friday we went canoeing down the river Auvezere, which runs through Tourtoirac. The water was low, in fact never more than about a metre deep, so the life jackets we were wearing seemed a little superfluous. A couple of times we actually had to get out and drag the canoes around as we were getting caught on rocks.
Our final night, Saturday, was celebrated with our lovely host Jo, her husband John, and a gaggle of ex-pat Australians, some of whom had settled locally and some that were just passing through. Great night, and a fitting end to a lovely stay.
Here's some photos from Tourtoirac and surrounds.
Lunch at the Medieval Cafe in Hautefort. From left: Russell, the top of Sarah's head, Jill, me, the back of Greg's head, and Shannon.
The beautifully named Bastard's Walk in Hautefort. Named after the Baron and Baroness de Bastard who lived there. I'm not making this up.
The eponymous chateau at Hautefort, location of the film Ever After. (Note: that's Sarah, not Drew Barrymore)
Gardens at Hautefort chateau. This is actually a contraband shot, as cameras were verboten. I'm going to hell.
Monastery at Brantome, location of unseemly activities by the monks.
Bridges in Brantome. (Note the smoke on the water behind the bridge. Bauw bauw bauw . . . bauw-bauw bauw-bauw . . . etc)
Cathedral at Brantome.
Thousand-year-old cathedral in the village of St. Jean de Cole.
Lots of updates to make, but I figured I'd start where I left off.
Not a lot happened during the rest of the stay in Tourtoirac. Activities mainly consisted of visiting other small towns, markets and Cathedrals, and playing cards by the pool.
The chateau in Hautefort was a definite highlight (see previous post) as was the medical museum in Hautefort. The medical museum presented a decidedly creepy history of European medicine over the last 400 years or so, in a building that had variously been used as a hospice for plague patients, and orphanage and a nunnery.
We also visited the caves of Lascaux, which feature an astonishing array of (approximately) 17,000-year old Cro-Magnon cave paintings. They were accidentally discovered in 1940 when a dog being walked through the forest fell into the caves through a hole in the ground. The caves were opened as a tourist attraction a few years later, but closed in the 1960s as exposure to humans has led to a fungus or some such growing on the paintings and destroying them.
Not being keen to let all those tourist dollars disappear, the operators have meticulously recreated the caves and the paintings (known as Lascaux II) and run guided tours through them. It's sterling work, and if they didn't tell you they were recreations you wouldn't necessarily pick it.
On the Friday we went canoeing down the river Auvezere, which runs through Tourtoirac. The water was low, in fact never more than about a metre deep, so the life jackets we were wearing seemed a little superfluous. A couple of times we actually had to get out and drag the canoes around as we were getting caught on rocks.
Our final night, Saturday, was celebrated with our lovely host Jo, her husband John, and a gaggle of ex-pat Australians, some of whom had settled locally and some that were just passing through. Great night, and a fitting end to a lovely stay.
Here's some photos from Tourtoirac and surrounds.
Lunch at the Medieval Cafe in Hautefort. From left: Russell, the top of Sarah's head, Jill, me, the back of Greg's head, and Shannon.
The beautifully named Bastard's Walk in Hautefort. Named after the Baron and Baroness de Bastard who lived there. I'm not making this up.
The eponymous chateau at Hautefort, location of the film Ever After. (Note: that's Sarah, not Drew Barrymore)
Gardens at Hautefort chateau. This is actually a contraband shot, as cameras were verboten. I'm going to hell.
Monastery at Brantome, location of unseemly activities by the monks.
Bridges in Brantome. (Note the smoke on the water behind the bridge. Bauw bauw bauw . . . bauw-bauw bauw-bauw . . . etc)
Cathedral at Brantome.
Thousand-year-old cathedral in the village of St. Jean de Cole.
Tuesday, 2 October 2007
Tourtoirac
Well, that's it for Amsterdam. After three days we'd pretty much seen all there was to see (it's not very big after all) and on Thursday Kate and Shannon and I took the train to Rotterdam.
Being Holland's major port, Rotterdam was almost bombed out of existence in WW2, and so has been almost entirely rebuilt in the last 60 years. We took a cruise around the city ports, looking at the buildings and architecture, including the very few that had survived.
On Saturday morning we left Amsterdam early to catch a sequence of trains to Thiviers in the south of France. The first was a Eurail to Paris, the second a Paris metro, the third a regional train to Limoges and the last a very regional train to Thiviers.
Given we had a few delays, it's astonishing that at the end of the day we were a grand total of five minutes late. The main issue was queuing for tickets at the Paris metro, which meant we made the train to Limoges with only three minutes to spare. That was close. Then the train to Limoges was stopped for about twenty minutes outside what looked like an army barracks. (The popular theory was that some miscreant was being hauled off to be shot. Whatever . . . we kept playing cards). Fortunately, the train to Thiviers was also delayed, and then sped the rest of the way, so we ended up being more or less on time.
From Thiviers we were driven in style (well, in a rented 4WD crammed in with all our luggage) to Tourtoirac. Here we're all staying in a converted barn, which is actually a lot nicer than it sounds, with Kate's parents.
The days since arriving have consisted of visiting pretty little French villages like Brantome and Hautefort, eating baguettes and croissants, wearing berets and striped t-shirts and playing the accordion. You know the type of thing.
The most interesting bit so far has been Hautefort, which is the site of a 12th century fortress that's been destroyed and rebuilt numerous times over the centuries. It's all very fairy-tale-looking, and so was used as the set for the movie Ever After. After visiting the castle we went back to the house to watch the movie, going oooh look that's the topiary etc. Ah, holidays.
Not a lot to report from here, really. This is the kickin-back part of the journey. On Sunday we'll be heading off for Paris for a few nights, followed by Copenhagen.
Being Holland's major port, Rotterdam was almost bombed out of existence in WW2, and so has been almost entirely rebuilt in the last 60 years. We took a cruise around the city ports, looking at the buildings and architecture, including the very few that had survived.
On Saturday morning we left Amsterdam early to catch a sequence of trains to Thiviers in the south of France. The first was a Eurail to Paris, the second a Paris metro, the third a regional train to Limoges and the last a very regional train to Thiviers.
Given we had a few delays, it's astonishing that at the end of the day we were a grand total of five minutes late. The main issue was queuing for tickets at the Paris metro, which meant we made the train to Limoges with only three minutes to spare. That was close. Then the train to Limoges was stopped for about twenty minutes outside what looked like an army barracks. (The popular theory was that some miscreant was being hauled off to be shot. Whatever . . . we kept playing cards). Fortunately, the train to Thiviers was also delayed, and then sped the rest of the way, so we ended up being more or less on time.
From Thiviers we were driven in style (well, in a rented 4WD crammed in with all our luggage) to Tourtoirac. Here we're all staying in a converted barn, which is actually a lot nicer than it sounds, with Kate's parents.
The days since arriving have consisted of visiting pretty little French villages like Brantome and Hautefort, eating baguettes and croissants, wearing berets and striped t-shirts and playing the accordion. You know the type of thing.
The most interesting bit so far has been Hautefort, which is the site of a 12th century fortress that's been destroyed and rebuilt numerous times over the centuries. It's all very fairy-tale-looking, and so was used as the set for the movie Ever After. After visiting the castle we went back to the house to watch the movie, going oooh look that's the topiary etc. Ah, holidays.
Not a lot to report from here, really. This is the kickin-back part of the journey. On Sunday we'll be heading off for Paris for a few nights, followed by Copenhagen.
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