I love the French. Eating is not just about filling their stomachs. Meetings are scheduled so as to not interupt lunchtime. Time is taken... an hour... or more.... and deciding what to put on your lunchtime tray raises so many conflicts of choice... that often, the choice itself can take quite a while...
My favourite part of the hour / hour and a half long lunch episode, is the way everyone gathers at the end of cafeteria, around little cafe tables, and drink coffee... As if they're meeting with the best of friends.
The lunch-hall is loud with laughter, and chatter, and if you didnt know better... one wouldnt think this was a place of work.
20 June 2010
14 June 2010
Stupid Roundabout.....
The Interview
So you can imagine my surprise, when sitting in a tiny little pub called Le Cinq ("The Five") in Rambouillet, watching the very first and opening match of the 2010 World Cup Football between South Africa and Mexico, when a little grey-haired man approached me and asked if I'd be willing to be interviewed on the radio.
He had noticed the South African flag draped over my shoulders, and though it may be appropriate to inteview a saffa, to get in on the WC hype... I obliged.
But regretted it about 2 minutes later.
As the evening progressed, and I watched them setup their gear - the butterflies in my tummy started to get busier and busier. Thinking that I can still get out of this situation by pretending to have a dinner date in Paris, or by having recieved a frantic call that demanded my urgent attention, the same grey-haired chap came up to me asking me to lend him the SA flag to drape over a statue (Nestor - the butler from the TinTin cartoons, nonetheless!!!). I oblige again.
But regretted it about 20 seconds later.
Now I had no way to get out of this. I couldnt go and ask for the flag back and then leave, amidst all this excitement!
I resolve to thinking that at least NOBODY knows me here... and at LEAST if I dont understand, I never have to return to this little pub and never have to face this chap again!
I mentally start to practice some random things I'd like to say about the football, in French.
The interview goes swimmingly - I charm, I joke, I laugh.. I get deep, I speak about Africa's culture and spirit, I speak about Dancing Desmond... and the interview ends on a high note.
Drink please!
He had noticed the South African flag draped over my shoulders, and though it may be appropriate to inteview a saffa, to get in on the WC hype... I obliged.
But regretted it about 2 minutes later.
As the evening progressed, and I watched them setup their gear - the butterflies in my tummy started to get busier and busier. Thinking that I can still get out of this situation by pretending to have a dinner date in Paris, or by having recieved a frantic call that demanded my urgent attention, the same grey-haired chap came up to me asking me to lend him the SA flag to drape over a statue (Nestor - the butler from the TinTin cartoons, nonetheless!!!). I oblige again.
But regretted it about 20 seconds later.
Now I had no way to get out of this. I couldnt go and ask for the flag back and then leave, amidst all this excitement!
I resolve to thinking that at least NOBODY knows me here... and at LEAST if I dont understand, I never have to return to this little pub and never have to face this chap again!
I mentally start to practice some random things I'd like to say about the football, in French.
The interview goes swimmingly - I charm, I joke, I laugh.. I get deep, I speak about Africa's culture and spirit, I speak about Dancing Desmond... and the interview ends on a high note.
Drink please!
09 June 2010
The affection is infectious
One thing I like most about France is the freedom of showing your affection.
Much to my surprise when I went to reception to enquire about something small, and was greeted by the receptionist with a kiss on both cheeks. I've only met her once.
This surprised, but didnt entirely shock.
What intrigued me is just exactly how run-of-the-mill this simple practice is.
Sitting on a bench, waiting for the train, I notice teenagers all around me, signalling the end of a day.
Two girls sit to my right. They look pretty standard, as teenagers come. Pony tails, skinny jeans, the statement t-shirt, big hoop earrings, makeup, chewing gum... and they're either playing with their phones, or showing each other their latest nail-do.
As more and more people start to fill the train station, so do more and more teenagers, on their way into or out of town.
Many know each other, obviously go to the same school.
Most teenagers that pass, and recognise my two friends on the right, greet them each with the proverbial kiss on the cheek.
Girls and boys alike.
What looks like ordinarily shy, gawky teens - it comes as second nature to them and dont hesitate in offering a cheek.
I smile.
There's no pretense. Just a simple way of life.
The French way o f life. And its beautiful.
Much to my surprise when I went to reception to enquire about something small, and was greeted by the receptionist with a kiss on both cheeks. I've only met her once.
This surprised, but didnt entirely shock.
What intrigued me is just exactly how run-of-the-mill this simple practice is.
Sitting on a bench, waiting for the train, I notice teenagers all around me, signalling the end of a day.
Two girls sit to my right. They look pretty standard, as teenagers come. Pony tails, skinny jeans, the statement t-shirt, big hoop earrings, makeup, chewing gum... and they're either playing with their phones, or showing each other their latest nail-do.
As more and more people start to fill the train station, so do more and more teenagers, on their way into or out of town.
Many know each other, obviously go to the same school.
Most teenagers that pass, and recognise my two friends on the right, greet them each with the proverbial kiss on the cheek.
Girls and boys alike.
What looks like ordinarily shy, gawky teens - it comes as second nature to them and dont hesitate in offering a cheek.
I smile.
There's no pretense. Just a simple way of life.
The French way o f life. And its beautiful.
06 June 2010
I'd rather not be driving, thank you.
Why, when we're in the driver's seat, are we happy to be in the drivers seat... but when we make a choice not to be in the driver's seat, we're unhappy with the way the driver, chosen by us, is driving?
Life is a funny thing.
So is love.
Life is a funny thing.
So is love.
Petit Dejeuner.
After last night's thunderstorm, I think its best to stay indoors today.
(well, that... and the fact that I slept slightly late... and woke up at noon...)
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