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.
Showing posts with label paris. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paris. Show all posts
Saturday, 19 July 2008
Thursday, 22 November 2007
Slightly Pished
Never done a blog under the influence before, so this should be interesting.
One of the few joys of corporate existence is the occasional lunches. Just got home from a big one. Yeah.
Today it was an end-of-the-year-not-Xmas-party-cos-the-budget-won't-allow-for-Xmas-party lunch that wound up at around 9.30 this evening. Which isn't too bad.
It doubled as a farewell for Jennifer, a lovely lady who's been working with us here in Melbourne for all of ten months, and has decided that Paris is more fun and she's going back.
While I can't argue with the reasoning it's . . . no.
I just can't argue with that.
Lunch was in Docklands and there was much beer, wine, merriment and average-to-good food. (Actually, it was just around the corner from where our new building is. We'll be moving offices a few weeks . . . stay tuned for that one).
The point I wanted to make is, it never ceases to amaze me that there can be such a lack of engagement with people in what is essentially a purely social setting.
I know that these are colleagues. I know that this is a quasi-work function. But for Gods' sake people . . . loosen up!
Is it just that I work with a bunch of right-wing fuckers? Possibly. It's white-collar corporate after all.
But does that mean they have no souls?? They're still people aren't they??
I'm not so sure anymore.
Question heard over the course over lunch: "Who are you voting for?"
Response (not me): "Oh. You know. Does it matter? Someone needs to explain to me the difference between Labor and Liberal."
While I have expressed similar sentiments in a jocular/satirical fashion, this gobsmacked me. Because it was seriously put, and represented a genuine misunderstanding.
And not just misunderstanding. But a lack of willingness to attempt to understand.
A lack of care for the difference.
My feelings on this at the moment are quite extreme.
If the Coalition is returned on Saturday, I will seriously consider renouncing my citizenship to this country. I do not think I could handle another four years under the rule of this backward-looking crowd of hyper-conservatives.
Under Howard's Coalition, Australia has become mean, obsessive, selfish and xenophobic.
I used to be proud of my country. I used to honestly believe that we were unique in the world. That we were the one place that would accept with open arms those that came to us for help.
And at one point I think it was true. But it's not anymore.
We have all the riches in the world. With all the mineral wealth under the ground we are easily the richest per-capita country there is.
So why are our indigenous people living in such poverty? Why do we have sick people waiting on trolleys in hospital corridors? And why do we turn away those desperate souls that risk travel in leaky boats in a soul-searing attempt to seek our aid?
And why-oh-why are our average workaday people obsessing about such eldritch concepts as "interest rates"??!
Who is responsible for this ridiculously dysfunctional system?
Answer: we are.
We as a society have demanded bigger TVs and bigger houses and funkier clothes.
And if you draw out the line on the graph, this is where its gets you.
Anyway, I tried to explain this to my colleagues and was met with blank stares.
But maybe it was just the pish talking.
One of the few joys of corporate existence is the occasional lunches. Just got home from a big one. Yeah.
Today it was an end-of-the-year-not-Xmas-party-cos-the-budget-won't-allow-for-Xmas-party lunch that wound up at around 9.30 this evening. Which isn't too bad.
It doubled as a farewell for Jennifer, a lovely lady who's been working with us here in Melbourne for all of ten months, and has decided that Paris is more fun and she's going back.
While I can't argue with the reasoning it's . . . no.
I just can't argue with that.
Lunch was in Docklands and there was much beer, wine, merriment and average-to-good food. (Actually, it was just around the corner from where our new building is. We'll be moving offices a few weeks . . . stay tuned for that one).
The point I wanted to make is, it never ceases to amaze me that there can be such a lack of engagement with people in what is essentially a purely social setting.
I know that these are colleagues. I know that this is a quasi-work function. But for Gods' sake people . . . loosen up!
Is it just that I work with a bunch of right-wing fuckers? Possibly. It's white-collar corporate after all.
But does that mean they have no souls?? They're still people aren't they??
I'm not so sure anymore.
Question heard over the course over lunch: "Who are you voting for?"
Response (not me): "Oh. You know. Does it matter? Someone needs to explain to me the difference between Labor and Liberal."
While I have expressed similar sentiments in a jocular/satirical fashion, this gobsmacked me. Because it was seriously put, and represented a genuine misunderstanding.
And not just misunderstanding. But a lack of willingness to attempt to understand.
A lack of care for the difference.
My feelings on this at the moment are quite extreme.
If the Coalition is returned on Saturday, I will seriously consider renouncing my citizenship to this country. I do not think I could handle another four years under the rule of this backward-looking crowd of hyper-conservatives.
Under Howard's Coalition, Australia has become mean, obsessive, selfish and xenophobic.
I used to be proud of my country. I used to honestly believe that we were unique in the world. That we were the one place that would accept with open arms those that came to us for help.
And at one point I think it was true. But it's not anymore.
We have all the riches in the world. With all the mineral wealth under the ground we are easily the richest per-capita country there is.
So why are our indigenous people living in such poverty? Why do we have sick people waiting on trolleys in hospital corridors? And why do we turn away those desperate souls that risk travel in leaky boats in a soul-searing attempt to seek our aid?
And why-oh-why are our average workaday people obsessing about such eldritch concepts as "interest rates"??!
Who is responsible for this ridiculously dysfunctional system?
Answer: we are.
We as a society have demanded bigger TVs and bigger houses and funkier clothes.
And if you draw out the line on the graph, this is where its gets you.
Anyway, I tried to explain this to my colleagues and was met with blank stares.
But maybe it was just the pish talking.
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.
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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