The theme of today's post is: spot the three surprising pieces of information! And here we go...
So, it's been awhile since my last post - really, the story behind that is a tragic epic...or an epic tragedy, whichever. We've been having constant problems with our computer/internet provider. I, as the most technically proficient of the group, have spent anywhere between six and 10 hours a week pulling out my hair and muttering profanities...er, I mean, fixing said problems. Which I think I've done...knock on wood. But still, it's meant that access to the Net has been a rare commodity in Guideland. So, apologies for delays in e-mails and such.
In the continuing narrative of driving in France, I have so far piloted the ginormous (giant and enormous) guide van three times. French drivers are even more frightening, and the road signs even more bewildering, when you're behind the wheel. However, aside from forgetting that an even more ginormous tractor-trailer had right of way coming from the right, it all went relatively well.
I had intended to post something last Saturday, when I was walking around sans jacket, about the gorgeous whether here, but it's a good thing I didn't. Otherwise I'd be all "Yum yum, these words are delicious! A little chewy though." Reason being, we're currently under 6 inches of snow. Apparently it hasn't snowed like this in over a decade. Strangely enough, the Canadians are now the fastest drivers on the road, with few French daring to go over 30km/h where they once went more than 100km/h.
For those of you playing along, the three surprising pieces of information are:
1) That out of six educated 20-somethings, I am the most technically proficient.
2) That I lived to tell about my driving experiences.
3) That the French can actually drive slowly under certain rare circumstances.
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Ooops - apology for any confusion caused by the appearance of random links to google news on this blog. I
was trying to figure out how to create a link within the text of my blog (and if anyone knows how to get rid of that stupid bullet point, I'd love to hear from them), and I didn't realize it was posting my various attempts. I hope this answers all your questions, o many readers of this blog.
was trying to figure out how to create a link within the text of my blog (and if anyone knows how to get rid of that stupid bullet point, I'd love to hear from them), and I didn't realize it was posting my various attempts. I hope this answers all your questions, o many readers of this blog.
Le Crazy Driving
Two weeks now in France, and I am soaking up the culture like a sponge. SpongeFloyd TightPants. There's some really cool elements to French culture (mostly revolving around the food here, which will likely contribute to the TightPants...), but some that I distinctly dislike. For example? Driving. In France. Is crazy. I don't know how to describe it.
Yes I do. Okay, again, let me preface the little rant by some measure of understanding - the towns here and hundreds of years old, and the streets were created by and for horse-drawn carriages, so they don't exactly lend themselves to being car-friendly. And it's not like there's no jerks driving around in Canada. But let me relate this little factoid to you - the French have crossing guards at crosswalks leading to schools, not merely for added safety, but also because, without them, no one would ever stop. Poor little Francine or Jacques would just stand on the other side of the road all day until their parents came to pick them up. I seriously had to make the "Stop" motion with my hand the other day while trying to cross a crosswalk. Same goes with changing lanes - no one will let you in. Fortunately we drive these big-ass vans and the French drive tin cans on wheels so when it's my turn to drive I'm gonna be like "Yo, I'm comin' over, and there ain't a god-damn thing you can do about it!" Or maybe something with better grammar. But more likely worse, with extra cursing.
Oh, and also there's the rule where drivers coming from little side streets on your right have the right of way, but that's a whole 'nother reason for insanity.
Anyway...I'm just enjoying a super-relaxing day off. Last Saturday, Jocelyne (the head guide) and I went to see a rugby game, which would have been awesome had it not been for the asshole sitting two rows behind us who thought he was the Jon Stewart of obnoxious French rugby fans and shouted comments heard all throughout the field that were so "clever" and "witty" that I wanted to "punch" "his face in". The worst is that every once in a while he would say something that was kinda funny, and people would laugh, and this encouraged him to repeat the same comment over and over and over because jokes always get funnier if the fifth and sixth time, doncha know? But it's kind of reassuring that this rare breed of sub-human is not limited to North America.
Well, I'm all snarked out (well, no, I'm not, but that's probably enough for one day). So I leave with the thought that I'm enjoying myself a lot over here, but definitely appreciating the people and culture of home.
And for those who haven't looked up the link yet:
Shut it up. Shut it up you.
Yes I do. Okay, again, let me preface the little rant by some measure of understanding - the towns here and hundreds of years old, and the streets were created by and for horse-drawn carriages, so they don't exactly lend themselves to being car-friendly. And it's not like there's no jerks driving around in Canada. But let me relate this little factoid to you - the French have crossing guards at crosswalks leading to schools, not merely for added safety, but also because, without them, no one would ever stop. Poor little Francine or Jacques would just stand on the other side of the road all day until their parents came to pick them up. I seriously had to make the "Stop" motion with my hand the other day while trying to cross a crosswalk. Same goes with changing lanes - no one will let you in. Fortunately we drive these big-ass vans and the French drive tin cans on wheels so when it's my turn to drive I'm gonna be like "Yo, I'm comin' over, and there ain't a god-damn thing you can do about it!" Or maybe something with better grammar. But more likely worse, with extra cursing.
Oh, and also there's the rule where drivers coming from little side streets on your right have the right of way, but that's a whole 'nother reason for insanity.
Anyway...I'm just enjoying a super-relaxing day off. Last Saturday, Jocelyne (the head guide) and I went to see a rugby game, which would have been awesome had it not been for the asshole sitting two rows behind us who thought he was the Jon Stewart of obnoxious French rugby fans and shouted comments heard all throughout the field that were so "clever" and "witty" that I wanted to "punch" "his face in". The worst is that every once in a while he would say something that was kinda funny, and people would laugh, and this encouraged him to repeat the same comment over and over and over because jokes always get funnier if the fifth and sixth time, doncha know? But it's kind of reassuring that this rare breed of sub-human is not limited to North America.
Well, I'm all snarked out (well, no, I'm not, but that's probably enough for one day). So I leave with the thought that I'm enjoying myself a lot over here, but definitely appreciating the people and culture of home.
And for those who haven't looked up the link yet:
Two weeks now in France,
Two weeks now in France, and I am soaking up the culture like a sponge. SpongeFloyd TightPants. There's some really cool elements to French culture (mostly revolving around the food here, which will likely contribute to the TightPants...), but some that I distinctly dislike. For example? Driving. In France. Is crazy. I don't know how to describe it.
Shut it up. Shut it up you.
Yes I do. Okay, again, let me preface the little rant by some measure of understanding - the towns here and hundreds of years old, and the streets were created by and for horse-drawn carriages, so they don't exactly lend themselves to being car-friendly. And it's not like there's no jerks driving around in Canada. But let me relate this little factoid to you - the French have crossing guards at crosswalks leading to schools, not merely for added safety, but also because, without them, no one would ever stop. Poor little Francine or Jacques would just stand on the other side of the road all day until their parents came to pick them up. I seriously had to make the "Stop" motion with my hand the other day while trying to cross a crosswalk. Same goes with changing lanes - no one will let you in. Fortunately we drive these big-ass vans and the French drive tin cans on wheels so when it's my turn to drive I'm gonna be like "Yo, I'm comin' over, and there ain't a god-damn thing you can do about it!" Or maybe something with better grammar. But more likely worse, with extra cursing.
Oh, and also there's the rule where drivers coming from little side streets on your right have the right of way, but that's a whole 'nother reason for insanity.
Anyway...I'm just enjoying a super-relaxing day off. Last Saturday, Jocelyne (the head guide) and I went to see a rugby game, which would have been awesome had it not been for the asshole sitting two rows behind us who thought he was the Jon Stewart of obnoxious French rugby fans and shouted comments heard all throughout the field that were so "clever" and "witty" that I wanted to "punch" "his face in". The worst is that every once in a while he would say something that was kinda funny, and people would laugh, and this encouraged him to repeat the same comment over and over and over because jokes always get funnier if the fifth and sixth time, doncha know? But it's kind of reassuring that this rare breed of sub-human is not limited to North America.
Well, I'm all snarked out (well, no, I'm not, but that's probably enough for one day). So I leave with the thought that I'm enjoying myself a lot over here, but definitely appreciating the people and culture of home.
And for those who haven't looked up the link yet:
Friday, January 16, 2004
Hmm...random thought for the day...you know the Black Eyed Peas song "Shut Up"? Of course you do. Well, it plays 50 times an hour here (as I imagine it does in Canada?), and I'm not a huge fan, but there's one part that cracks me up...you know how the background voices go, at one point "Shut it up" instead of just "Shut up?". Well, it reminds me of my second favorite Strong Bad e-mail (my favorite is under the link "The reason the web was invented") called "Crazy Cartoon". Anyway, check it out...it certainly makes me enjoy the song that much more!
In other music news: the French love Sean Paul. A lot.
Well, the nice house is slowly becoming less nice, and then nice again, and then sorta nice...It's a nice-looking place, but there's some problems (although nothing compared to the old mould-infested, run-down, sewage-smelling old guide house, I hear). The shower was clogged for almost 24 hours, there's only two elements out of six that work on the stove, the pots and pans date back to the Carter administration, the dryer sounds like a space launch at Cape Canaveral, the front door sometimes locks us INSIDE the house...but I digress. Ah, France, the land of whine and cheese.
So, big props to my homies (fo' shizzle) who sent me their addresses. Snail mail is on the way. I didn't bring my address book with me, so anyone whose addresses I previously had (before this trip, I mean) I no longer have. See, I'm smart like that...
In other music news: the French love Sean Paul. A lot.
Well, the nice house is slowly becoming less nice, and then nice again, and then sorta nice...It's a nice-looking place, but there's some problems (although nothing compared to the old mould-infested, run-down, sewage-smelling old guide house, I hear). The shower was clogged for almost 24 hours, there's only two elements out of six that work on the stove, the pots and pans date back to the Carter administration, the dryer sounds like a space launch at Cape Canaveral, the front door sometimes locks us INSIDE the house...but I digress. Ah, France, the land of whine and cheese.
So, big props to my homies (fo' shizzle) who sent me their addresses. Snail mail is on the way. I didn't bring my address book with me, so anyone whose addresses I previously had (before this trip, I mean) I no longer have. See, I'm smart like that...
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
Alright...so I've been doing a little bit of thinking since my last post (just a little bit, you know, keeps the brain from getting rusty), and I think I should append a couple of thoughts to my little rant from a few days ago. Not that I don't still find Mr. F____still annoying and creepy ('cause I do, especially now that I've been subjected to him a second time), but I do need to say something in general the general defence of the French, especially around here.
It's frustrating because of all the visitors, the French seem to show the least interest and respect: there's the joggers who get changed in the parking lot, the hunters who jump the fences and leave shotgun shells behind, the couples who meet just by the woods and scatter porno everywhere, to name the worst offenders. And I'm all, "How can they do that here, at a memorial site?" But really - all of France, and especially this part where the Western Front ran, is like one giant memorial.
Going to work, we pass up to a dozen military cemetaries in a 20-minute drive. In addition to these, there are dozens of monuments representing almost every allied country. And then, there are further reminders throughout the year, as "souvenirs" of the war surface in the surrounding fields - some dangerous, like unexploded artillery shells, others horrifying, like human bones.
Anyway - I guess reading my 31-section binder of WW1 facts has just gone to my head, but it makes me a lot more sympathetic to conduct of the French in regards to the site. Also, these are by far the minority - really, it's kind of amazing the sort of regard that many (especially the older generations) have for the Canadians who left their homeland to defend France.
Mr. F_____ however, seems to have the highest guard for the young women who leave their country to interpret these sites for visitors.
Anyway, I should probably get back to work. I'm actually at Beaumont-Hamel right now. We've had a grand total of (drumroll please!): zero visitors. I actually fell asleep at the desk while reading about the advance of the 88th brigade of the 29th division as part of the battle of the Somme, which Haig agreed to since Joffre was being bled dry by the Germans at Verdun and whozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......
It's frustrating because of all the visitors, the French seem to show the least interest and respect: there's the joggers who get changed in the parking lot, the hunters who jump the fences and leave shotgun shells behind, the couples who meet just by the woods and scatter porno everywhere, to name the worst offenders. And I'm all, "How can they do that here, at a memorial site?" But really - all of France, and especially this part where the Western Front ran, is like one giant memorial.
Going to work, we pass up to a dozen military cemetaries in a 20-minute drive. In addition to these, there are dozens of monuments representing almost every allied country. And then, there are further reminders throughout the year, as "souvenirs" of the war surface in the surrounding fields - some dangerous, like unexploded artillery shells, others horrifying, like human bones.
Anyway - I guess reading my 31-section binder of WW1 facts has just gone to my head, but it makes me a lot more sympathetic to conduct of the French in regards to the site. Also, these are by far the minority - really, it's kind of amazing the sort of regard that many (especially the older generations) have for the Canadians who left their homeland to defend France.
Mr. F_____ however, seems to have the highest guard for the young women who leave their country to interpret these sites for visitors.
Anyway, I should probably get back to work. I'm actually at Beaumont-Hamel right now. We've had a grand total of (drumroll please!): zero visitors. I actually fell asleep at the desk while reading about the advance of the 88th brigade of the 29th division as part of the battle of the Somme, which Haig agreed to since Joffre was being bled dry by the Germans at Verdun and whozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......
Sunday, January 11, 2004
Dear Mr. Fournier,
Hi. It's me, Laura from BC, Vimy guide. In light of our conversation today, I would like to make the following points:
1) I lied. We did not have a conversation. Here's a tip: if the amount of time spent speaking by each party is approximately equal, then it is a conversation. If one party speaks 10 times as much as the other, it is a lecture. If one party speaks 100 times more than the other, it is reason for manslaughter.
2) Speaking reallyreallyreally fast does not make anyone understand your northern French dialect any better, especially anglophones from BC.
3) If the person you are speaking to is merely smiling and nodding, then they are not interested. If they are glancing away, playing with hair or clothing, or fidgeting, they are very very bored. If they are gritting their teeth, kicking the table aggressively and glaring at you, they are mentally picturing you being dragged away by wild horses.
4) Tour guides are there to give tours, not to entertain 60 year old men. Or 67, or 58, or 72, or however old you happen to be.
Sincerely,
Laura Floyd on behalf of all tour guides everywhere
Ah, life is sweet in the service industry..."Hee hee, I don't really have a job to do or responsibilities or anything...don't ask me, I'm just a girl!"
By sweet I mean bitter. And by "life in the service industry" I mean me!
Hi. It's me, Laura from BC, Vimy guide. In light of our conversation today, I would like to make the following points:
1) I lied. We did not have a conversation. Here's a tip: if the amount of time spent speaking by each party is approximately equal, then it is a conversation. If one party speaks 10 times as much as the other, it is a lecture. If one party speaks 100 times more than the other, it is reason for manslaughter.
2) Speaking reallyreallyreally fast does not make anyone understand your northern French dialect any better, especially anglophones from BC.
3) If the person you are speaking to is merely smiling and nodding, then they are not interested. If they are glancing away, playing with hair or clothing, or fidgeting, they are very very bored. If they are gritting their teeth, kicking the table aggressively and glaring at you, they are mentally picturing you being dragged away by wild horses.
4) Tour guides are there to give tours, not to entertain 60 year old men. Or 67, or 58, or 72, or however old you happen to be.
Sincerely,
Laura Floyd on behalf of all tour guides everywhere
Ah, life is sweet in the service industry..."Hee hee, I don't really have a job to do or responsibilities or anything...don't ask me, I'm just a girl!"
By sweet I mean bitter. And by "life in the service industry" I mean me!
Friday, January 09, 2004
By the time you read this, I will have turned 23...huh. How'd that happen? I've been in Arras for two days now, and I worked (or should I say "worked"?) (yes I should) both days. I also woke up at 3am both days and couldn't fall back asleep. So that makes 14 hours sleep in 72 hours - pardon me if I'm a little more random and rambling than normal. Which is pretty damn random and rambling to begin with.
My first day on the job, I was surprised to find the parking lot full - I had been told that there are hardly any visitors this time of year! However, it turns out that the memorial is quite popular with joggers. Yes, French men in spandex...I leave you to your own mental picture of this.
On a more serious note: the site itself is beyond description. The surrounding land is nothing but shell holes and craters; there is no flat areas at all, except for right around the monument. Also, all of the grass is roped off, since it has been estimated that each square yard contains at least one unexploded shell - two people were actually killed back in 1999 when one of these exploded, but I believe they were munitions workers there to disarm shells, not visitors. The itself monument towers over everything - it's built on the highest point of the ridge (Hill 145). You can see pictures of it by clicking on the link to my job and looking up the memorials.
Anyway - I've met all my housemates now. There's 6 of us living in a 5 bedroom house: 4 girls and 2 guys. During the spring and summer there's ten people; I can't imagine it! Six seems like a pretty good number, and we all seem to get along pretty well (so far).
Things that are good about France: Cheese, Wine, Baked Goods - cheap and awesome.
Things that are less good: Driving, tight tight pants on men.
Thanks to those who sent me your addresses - your snail mail will be crawling towards you shortly!
My first day on the job, I was surprised to find the parking lot full - I had been told that there are hardly any visitors this time of year! However, it turns out that the memorial is quite popular with joggers. Yes, French men in spandex...I leave you to your own mental picture of this.
On a more serious note: the site itself is beyond description. The surrounding land is nothing but shell holes and craters; there is no flat areas at all, except for right around the monument. Also, all of the grass is roped off, since it has been estimated that each square yard contains at least one unexploded shell - two people were actually killed back in 1999 when one of these exploded, but I believe they were munitions workers there to disarm shells, not visitors. The itself monument towers over everything - it's built on the highest point of the ridge (Hill 145). You can see pictures of it by clicking on the link to my job and looking up the memorials.
Anyway - I've met all my housemates now. There's 6 of us living in a 5 bedroom house: 4 girls and 2 guys. During the spring and summer there's ten people; I can't imagine it! Six seems like a pretty good number, and we all seem to get along pretty well (so far).
Things that are good about France: Cheese, Wine, Baked Goods - cheap and awesome.
Things that are less good: Driving, tight tight pants on men.
Thanks to those who sent me your addresses - your snail mail will be crawling towards you shortly!
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Gaaahhh...so I'm doing the final packing for my trip now. Everything into one large duffel bag and my back-pack. Yup, it's all going to fit. Of course it will. No problem. All my stuff for five months is going to fit in this bag RIGHT NOW DAMMIT JUST FIT YOU STUPID THINGS I HATE YOU ARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!!!
And so on. Actually, I'm not at the "putting stuff in a bag stage" yet, I'm still at the "putting stuff in piles and simultaneously laughing and crying at all the stuff I thought I could bring" stage. Well, really, I'm at the "too overwhelmed from laughing and crying at the piles that I needed to procrastinate, hey! I 'll write in my blog" stage.
SEX!!!: Now that I have your attention, don't forget to e-mail me your mailing addresses! I'll have mine posted shortly if you want to send me stuff (like Kraft Dinner, y'know, they don't sell it in France). I will definitely be sending and responding to e-mails as well.
So, in review: Packing is hard. Laura is procrastinating. Send me your mailing addresses. E-mail is good. The End.
And so on. Actually, I'm not at the "putting stuff in a bag stage" yet, I'm still at the "putting stuff in piles and simultaneously laughing and crying at all the stuff I thought I could bring" stage. Well, really, I'm at the "too overwhelmed from laughing and crying at the piles that I needed to procrastinate, hey! I 'll write in my blog" stage.
SEX!!!: Now that I have your attention, don't forget to e-mail me your mailing addresses! I'll have mine posted shortly if you want to send me stuff (like Kraft Dinner, y'know, they don't sell it in France). I will definitely be sending and responding to e-mails as well.
So, in review: Packing is hard. Laura is procrastinating. Send me your mailing addresses. E-mail is good. The End.
Saturday, January 03, 2004
So...ummm...hi. Nice to see you. Glad you could make it. If you're reading this, then you probably know the deal already - I'm working from January to April as a tour guide at two different war memorials (Vimy Ridge and Beaumont Hamel) in northern France. But I'm not there yet, I'm still in the preparing (and stressing stages). So, nothing too exciting this week, although I did a a fabulous New Year's Eve and a really great haircut!
I only mention the haircut because of my tragic history with hair - the Notorious Mullet Years (1986-89), the Untimely Perm Incident of Grade Six, the Infamous Pixie Cut of Grade 7 - which has led me to adopt the "long enough to be in a ponytail" style for pretty much the last 8 years. But now it's kinda of layered and stuff...I hope I don't have any problems at customs (but madame, in zees photo you clearly 'ave a...'ow you say...mullet?).
So, other than New Year's and a haircut, I've pretty much been running around like a chicken with my head cut off (that is to say, around in cirlces before falling down). Packing, unpacking, repacking, etc. You know, making endless photocopies of my passport, my travel insurance, my flight info, my butt...important stuff that I don't want to lose! I'm getting kind of stressed out that I'm going to forget something, but it's not like I'm moving to Antarctica or the Himalayas...if I do forget something, I can just buy it in France! Except for peanut butter, apparently.
I only mention the haircut because of my tragic history with hair - the Notorious Mullet Years (1986-89), the Untimely Perm Incident of Grade Six, the Infamous Pixie Cut of Grade 7 - which has led me to adopt the "long enough to be in a ponytail" style for pretty much the last 8 years. But now it's kinda of layered and stuff...I hope I don't have any problems at customs (but madame, in zees photo you clearly 'ave a...'ow you say...mullet?).
So, other than New Year's and a haircut, I've pretty much been running around like a chicken with my head cut off (that is to say, around in cirlces before falling down). Packing, unpacking, repacking, etc. You know, making endless photocopies of my passport, my travel insurance, my flight info, my butt...important stuff that I don't want to lose! I'm getting kind of stressed out that I'm going to forget something, but it's not like I'm moving to Antarctica or the Himalayas...if I do forget something, I can just buy it in France! Except for peanut butter, apparently.
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