Bikes are Better!

For the last month I have been biking my way around Paris. Everyday to and from university from my house in Saint Denis to Invalides.
                   I take the bike instead of the metro everytime I can: for work, to meet friends.

As a consequence I'm feeling pretty good !

On a bike you see alot more of a city than you ever will crammed in the dark metro underground.
Some of the things I have seen have been lovely: the sun; birds, my first bee of the year, watching spring coming in...

Although somedays I see things that disgust me. Such as today. As I was cycling back to my house from university this afternoon when I was overtook by an ambulance. Normal. Until the paramedic in the passenger's seat opens his window and without even looking throws his empty coffee cup on to the road in front of me. I swerve to avoid being hit in the face by this unexpected flying cup and stop, pick up the cup and without knowing what I'm doing, pedal until I finally have caught up with the ambulance at a red light...

Pulling up beside them I tap at their window, he slides the window opening grinning down from his ambulance at the blonde, flushed red girl on a bike, (who, just to complete the image has a bike basket she has found on the road strapped to her back...)

However my ruffled appearance does not stop me from thrusting back at him his cup with the words:

"Monsieur! Vous ne devrez pas jeter votre tasse sur la rue, numéro 1: vous pouvez reçevoir une amende, pensez à l'environnement!!! ET numéro 2 si vous avez fait un peu d'attention vous auriez vu que j'étais là sur mon vélo quand vous avez jeté votre tasse et du coup vous m'avez failli me taper!!!!!!!!!!!"


Is it normal to have to lecture the french ambulance services not to throw their coffee cups out of their ambulance once they've finished with them once I caught up with them at a red light?

1) Because it's littering and just not acceptable anywhere, put it in the bin for goodness sake!

And 2) BECAUSE IM ON A BIKE!!!!!! YOU ALMOST KILLED ME WITH YOUR COFFEE CUP TRAP!!!!

....Luckily you may be able to save my life as you are a paramedic if I did have an accident, although you drive so badly, you don't look in your wing mirrors, so the chances of you seeing me is unlikely.


The irony is: only yesterday I was stopped by 5 policemen in a police van for having jumped a red light. This is a harmless action I feel, I put no one at danger, compared with carelessly dropping misiles from a fast moving vechicle.

Baffling Bibliothèques & Bafouant Bibliothécaire!

After spending a delightful 3 weeks not working, studying, teaching or barely even putting pencil to paper in England, I came back from the Christmas holidays and found that due to my 'holidaying' I had left myself with 3 days in which to write an essay for university. An essay that should have taken 3 months to complete... 


As result my first weekend back in Paris I spent dwelling in libraries, But wait! 
REAL libraries. 


The libraries you tend to imagine when you're little; 
         a grand hall, where you find deaf professors with round glasses, 
                studiously bent over books and with such pale skin as to suggest they never leave this enchanted cavern of books to enjoy the sun. 


The books that surround you are found on bookcases which cover the expense of the walls and you find the old fashioned cliche of library ladders that you have to climb up for miles to reach the ceiling! 


         Where, there, perched on a wooden shelf untouched for centuries amongst                   cobwebs and dust there is the old, yellowing book which you had hope to find all along and must surely hold the answer to your arduous and dull essay question! 




Yes. I have my little girl library dream.
                     A library that looks like something out of Hogwarts. 


And how did I find this gem? 
                                      On the internet of course!



When I researched online to find good books to help me tackle this daunting essay I came across the library packed with history books. Satisfied it was perfect as the name mentionned the word 'Histoire', I set to find it in real life!


I walked past it numerous times. It looked too scary to be a public place of reading!


They're were bouncers at the entrance for a start! And it was a part of the Hotel de Ville! Which now I know turns out to be not just the Mairie but a library and a gallery place and a historical museum all at once. Weird! 


So after swallowing my fear I approach the bouncer to ask if I was in the right place...On my explanation: I'm writing an essay and there's a book I'd like to read inside s'il vous plait!  


I get escorted inside by Monsieur Big Bouncer man and as soon as we've entered, I feel out of place. Inside is luxurious, security ridden and much too sophisicated entrance hall for a foreign student to be entering. I feel like I'm a spy trying to gain access to a secret bank of information!


           Despite these thoughts of how I feel abit misplaced, they sign me up and give me a library for the "Specialised Libraries" in Paris ! COOOL! Unexpected but I just like the title of the card! 


(Who would of thought you can be welcomed into such a sauve resource center as long as you don't get scared and run away at the sight of the scary bouncers instead of walking up bravely  and asking "OI THERES MEANT TO BE A LIBRARY HERE OR IS JOHNNY DEPP INSIDE? IS THAT WHY THERES SO MUCH PROTECTION?"


Anywho, I have my special library card! YAY! And I'm allowed to access the main building  and make my way to the library. 


I walk up numerous amounts of stairs! 


It's a huge huge HUMUNGUS BEAST of a building!


And I walk into the library sweating my coat and stripping my scarf. Not very elegant when I look around and I am in a room with one man with who asks me my life details and tells me the rules of the library: 


"Its forbidden to sit here, here, here, here and here. They're for rare documents. Here you can. Oh no wait the table there is delicate to ink if you're thinking of writing? You are. Ah bah... When you enter choose a table thats not delicate please..."

I'm busy trying to digest all this is way-too-much-hassle-regulations-just-to-read-a-book and I'm feeling rather out of my middle class social rank if I'm honest. However I agree to abide by the rules and when he asks what material I'm interested in he literally jumps off his chair in delight!!!!!!!!!!!!! 


"JULES FERRY! My god yes we have tonnes! Everything! More! Lovely!" 


His fingers flash rapidly over his keyboard and within milliseconds gives me a lightning speed run down of all the books which would I will be highly grateful to study! (Unfortunately due to me daydreaming that I was a spy breaking-in to steal some secret spy information from a top-of-the-art-most-highly-protected-library,  I miss all the details he says to me. Everything but one book title.)

FINALLY, I escape Monsieur Eager enthousiaste and get abit lost finding the entrance to the library itself. HUGE BUILDING. So I make a unplanned but welcome break at the toilets.

Finally I find the entrance: 2 MASSIVE MAGNIFICIENT wooden doors; as tall as you can imagine tower infront of me. 
                          Jolly good here goes! 
I push open the door. Get too overwhelmed and search for find a table in panic! 


Vite vite vite no not this table, nor that one. No the man there looks far too intelligent I can't share a table with him, I'll disturb him too, oh balls, no delicate surface... 
Bah voila! 


And I dump my heavy bag on the table with such relief that an unfortunate,  unwelcomed BOOM. echoes round the hall. oh shit. oh shit. Not feeling at home here it's much to sohpisicated...

However on further examination I realised there were a fair handful of students busily buried in books so whilst making a scene to find a table and banging down bags in a REAL REAL REALLL library is not over appreciated... I made my myself thoroughly at home. 


The table was huge I could spread my papers out. Everyone was studying and busy making notes and you found youself sucked into the studious spell! Yes I think I got caught up in the academic ambience and just went for it. 
          Progressed alot I feel.
                     Amazing how a Hogwarts style library can make you fill a page faster                   with french words than 10 cups of tea and a lot of chocolate!

Anywho, I had yet to ask for the books that had really bought me here in the first place. It was a frightening procedure. Having forgotten all the useful results from the research Monsieur Ethousiaste had threw at me through various spit missiles I had to research the book and fill in a little card with all its details and then the scary bit: 
Give it to the documentalist (or whatever their absurd titles are.) 


I walked up. Very conscience of my new squeaky boots on the old wooden floor. 
I peak my head up over the rather-too-high-to-be-friendly desk of the man I have whittled down out of all the various figures sat authoritively at tall and daunting desks as the librarian. 


I whisper: I'd like this please. He looks bewildered as to why I have disturbed him from his Large, book of IMPORTANT LAW and then takes my card book request. He scans it. I wait with baited breath. I have noted to the best of my ability what book, ISBN number, Author, Year, Publisher... Uh-oh...He screams:


THIS BOOK IS NOT IN THE LIBRARY !

Oh fuck. Everyone turns to look.


"Errr. But no I found it online at my house and then for the 2nd time here in the libraries database. I am certain this book is here. Even Monsieur Enthousiaste outside found it for me..."

GO SEE THIS MAN OVER THERE HE'LL TEACH YOU HOW TO USE THIS LIBRARY PROPERLY.

I fought the urge to be impolite and say "SSSShhhhhh It's a library..." Like in that TV program I no longer remember the name of. However. Instead, tail between my legs and squeaky boots on feet, I followed his finger to the another man....

I cleared my throat to start my speech over when the SHOUTY SHOUT SHOUT SO EVERYONE CAN HEAR man came over and did a little speech on how I couldn't use the database search and I needed educating. Charming.
When he had let out all his steam and reduced to the size of a normal man he span on his heels and marched in a manner that made his footsteps echoe off the bookcases with a sound reminding you of the headteacher approaching at a school.
                  What an uncanny likeness to Professor Snape...I have found Hogwarts!


I didn't let my eyes leave the back of the SHOUT SHOUT FOR ALL YOU CAN man's walk until I was sure he was seated comfortably and absorbed deeply in his book of boredom.

I swung my eyes round to the next man on the high chair behind his tall desk and like a child who couldn't recite her timetables whispered: 
This is what I would like please. 


The man gave me the welcoming grin I have ever seen in my life and soon we were chatting in library whispers like neighbours. 


And as it turns out I was correct in my research!


I was not just a blonde foreign stupid girl who always made mistakes!


I started the short journey back to the SHOUT man by slaleming through the desks with such a  swagger that said "Yeah in your face!" 
This self-confidence faded fast with every squeaky new boot step and I ended the journey strolling hesitantly up to the SHOUT man and saying the words:
It is here. I am right. Even the nice gentleman there says so. 

SHOUT man grunted, roughed up his hair with an air of auhtority and said:
I know every position of all these books. They've all safe places. This one single book I don't know where it is. And to make matters worse. It's only small. 40pages. 

I replied: In that case I shall read it quick when you've found it so you can quickly put it back in it's very safe place or lose it again. As you wish... :) 


He did not reply to this remark...

He slithered off his chair (the thought struck me how I was taller than him which was pleasing and made him much less frightening) and after half an hour of searching and watching him scale up ladders (just for me hehehee!) He found my book and with a very defeated expression placed it infront of me. 

YEAHAHAH WON! 

Bref, if you've got to the end of this blog my new Hogwarts Wizards Hat goes off to you!
But on a serious note, I suggest if you really want to get an essay done - get lost in a huge library and be swallowed in a silent crowd of readers. You can't talk, the outside world of distractions doesn't exist and you'll increase your production rate without increasing your BMI with extremme chocolate and tea consumption!

:)



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L'argon & the jargon!

I live in a house with eight young french people.  

                                  Perfect for improving your all over french knowledge from best bars to cooking skills! 

But naturally I have picked up some of the slang, bad habits, street verlan that surrounds me on a day-to-day basis. As always in the process of learning, I have made some rather humiliating mistakes along the way... 

I feel another post exposition of 'faux-pas's coming along...


Scenario:
We're using my laptop to play music through the guitar amp, it's much too loud so one of my flat mates asks:

Vincent: " 'Azel, comment est-ce qu'on peut baisser le sens?"

Hazel: "Donne-moi une seconde et j'arrive pour baiser le sens."

This sentence is followed by a dramatic silence.
 The kind that makes you know something you've said is not quite what you had in mind...


                                                           All my flatmates burst out in laughter! 

Honestly, I was completely lost at this point:

"Bah, quoi?! Qu'est qu'il y a?!"

Moral of the story: Pronounce a single 's' like a 'Z'...

"Baisser qlqch" - To lower or to turn something down.
and
"Baiser qlqch" - To fuck something.

So:

Vincent: "Hazel, how can you turn down the volume?"
Hazel: "Give me a second and I'll fuck the sound."

Quite a violent reply really when you think about it.


Lesson Learnt.

Les Petites Choses qui me font sourire :)

Somedays you find love everywhere you look :)

It's the stupid things that make my day...

Marmite I love you! I woke up one morning only to find that my dearest marmite loved me dearly too! (In all honesty I just opened the jar and there was this sign of devotion!)

Yet again, it wasn't me who has carried this out! It's just things I've found around which made me smile uncontrollably for the next 24 hours!

Flying Deer, Riding Bears & Shooting Tigers in Paris!

It goes without saying that as a foreign person moving abroad without considerable efficiency in the native language, you can be certain of some inevitable language barriers.

To say the least I have had my fair share of these moments that make you cringe and go so red that someone could easily cook a million french frogs legs on my face let alone one boiled egg!
So the natural reaction is to glorify the most absurd, comical and embarassing one's on the internet right?

This isn't a blog post.
                  This is a Wall of Fame Shame!

1) It is essential to note: When you first arrive in France and the french people you meet understand that you can speak 'Eeenglish', they will proceed to speak english whilst continuously reverting back to french subconciously. This concludes in a rather daunting soup of languages - especially if you have just arrived, are completely not acclimatised to the french accent and are unaccustomed to the unusal 'franglais' used by the majority of the french population!

One of the best examples I can give of this is an experience of my friend Rachel:
Picture an american politely making conversation with a family friend who says:
"Je vois you like to ride 'ours', Rachelle?"
Rachel by this point is replaying this single sentence in her head, chopping it into bite size pieces & struggling to find the meaning! Not as easy as you may think for the simple reason:
'Ours' is the french word for Bear. And coincidentally it has the same sound as a french man pronouncing the word 'Horse' in english - "Orse"!
So Rachel naturally replies: "No not at all!!"
The french men is terribly perplexed: "Mais, tu as pictures of 'Orses' dans ta chambre, non?"
Rachel rapidly double checks herself and replies: "No, I don't believe there are pictures of bears in my room!"
The french man by this point is smiley widely at the obvious and common foreigner 'faux pas' and marches Rachel into her own bedroom, points at a picture of her riding a horse and says smugly:
"Non, non! Not 'Ours' but 'Orse! Vous savez, 'Clip clop clip clop!'"

My own experience with this combining of languages was with Stephane from my host family here enthousiastically recounting a story:
"'Azel, j'ai un ami who works selling guns - il est fou quoi! Mais, his son at school one day got into trouble because le prof asked tous the children to draw what they had done at school au weekend. Tu peux imaginer the surprise when le prof saw the drawing my friend's son had sketched! He had drawn him and his father, mon ami, shooting tigers in Paris!"

"....Errrr...! That's possible?! In Paris?!"

"Ouais, bien sur 'Azel!"

"But....It's Paris! Where do they hunt the tigers?!"

"Tigers?! Who said anything about tigers?! I said they were shooting TARGETS 'Azel!"

Tigers & Targets. The french pronounciation of Targets sounds very much like the work 'Tigers'. Very different. Not to be confused!

With a doubt my french comprehension has improved dramatically since those early painful days of "I'm sorry, I do beg your pardon, What did you say? And what does that mean?!"

But, even after I have been living in Paris for approaching 3 months (!) today I had yet another language 'faux pas' moment! One that deserves it's place amongst the greats!

My host family proposed to me today:

<< Il y a du vent! On doit aller au sentier près de la rivière avec le cerf-volant 'Azel!>>

I speed translated this sentence word by word:

Cerf = Stag

Volant = Flying  (Present Participe of the verb 'voler')

Hence, my lightning speed french-english translation resulted in this unfortunate translation:

"It's windy! We should go to the path near the river with the flying stag Hazel!"

Justly my response was a little off the target subject:

"You have a flying dear?! ...Is he called Ruldolph?!"

"Vous avez un "cerf volant"?! Son nom est 'Ruldolph'?!?!"

....................................................................

Perhaps a strange conclusion to draw from a remark about the weather!

Sometimes I wander why the parents trust me to look after their children!

The Potentially Dangerous Story of: Noisette, A Moped & A Chainsaw...

Q. What can be more French than driving a left-hand drive Twingo on the right side of the road?
A. Driving a Scooter.

Q. And what can top my 'First Parisienne Driving Experience' episode with the bike and the open boot?
A. Riding on the back of a scooter....After purchasing a chainsaw bien sûr...

And this is exactly what happened.

I had just woken up, wandered into the kitchen, put the kettle onto boil and was asked by Stephane:
"Good morning! You want to come buy a Chainsaw with me?"
"Oui, why not?!"
I take out my beloved Marmite from the cupboard and reach for the baguette...

"Car or scooter?"

"SCOOTER!!! Definitly scooter, it'll wake me up!"

Sometimes I wonder how I get myself into these situations...

And then I remember the morning I confused my post for bread and all my questions are answered..

A bank statement isn't always good news I'll give you that, but is there really any need to spread butter on it and put it in the toaster...?

We head out on Stephane's scooter, (don't worry Mum I was wearing a helmet!) And make our way towards the DIY shop; as always Stephane hasn't the foggiest idea where he is going and relies on his i-Phone to guide the way.

We arrive, purchase said Chainsaw and walk back to the parked scooter.

Up until this point I haven't put two and two together. Infact, it wasn't until we approached the moped that realisation started to climb through the thick cotton of sleep and my brain started to perform several quick estimations:

Two People + One Rather Large Chainsaw + One Scooter = ...

"Ermmmm, Stephane..."

I stop in my tracks and look at what I'm holding: In addition to the Chainsaw that Stephane was carrying we had brought a 50m extension wire and a large bottle of oil.

"I don't mean to be pessimistic but I really don't see how all this is going to fit in your boot...and for that matter, the boot of your scooter..."

After a little bit of encouragement and various tetrus calculations, the chainsaw slides into the footwell. We climb on also and I shove the oil and the extension cable into my coat and zip it up quickly. We pull away, the engine straining a little bit but YESSSS!!!

2 Adults, 1 Chainsaw, 50m of wires and a rather heavy bottle of oil later and we're on the move!

I sit in amazement on the back of the scooter, cradling the wire and oil to avoid them sliping out the bottom of my coat and think: "And we have overcome the worst..."

But, as soon as this thought has floated it's way through my skull Stephane calls back to me:
"If I say 'jump' Hazel, you jump!"
"What?! Jump?! On a bike! It's already heavily loaded without me bouncing up and down on it too!!!"
"Non, the Chainsaw box..it's on my feet. If there's a red light and I have to stop, it is highly likely I will not be able to stabilise the scooter by putting my feet down..because they're stuck.."
"..Right...D'accord..."

A vivid image of me jumping off the back of the moped and having the oil and wire escape from my coat has I fly back towards earth is conjugured. 

"Sauter. Sauter. Sauter!" is my only thought as I readjust my position for an easy launch exit...!

As we pull into the drive of the house safe and sound and all DIY equipment accounted for, I feel a slight disappointment for not getting to act out my 'self eject' evacuation scenario from the scooter!

Either way, nothing like an adrenaline-filled-scooter ride to wake you up on a Sunday!

It definitly reaffirms the rule of 'anything goes!' on the roads of Ile-de-France, non?

Sometimes I wonder how I get myself into these situations.

But for the most part, I'm grateful I do :)

Donkey, Santi & The Elevator McFlurries!

If your name begins with a 'H' in France and you're introducing yourself to French people, I wish you the best of luck!
The letter 'H' is usually not pronounced in the French language and so my double 'H' attack name is alittle difficult.....No, let's be fair! It's impossible to comprehend for the majority of the French population is seems!

"Bonjour! Je m'appelle Hazel Hurst"
                                   or "Azel 'Urst" en français has resorted in much confusion.

Here are some replies:

"AXEL?! Your name is not really AXEL, non?!"

"Anzel? You are German then?"

And my favourite:

"Enzo...Errr...Plaisir...!"

When I went bowling recently with some friends, the majority of whom were German, the man spelt my name as 'Hazen'...Which is the closest yet I'll give you that!

Perhaps, reassuringly, they also spelt Doreen's name incorrectly! Though personally I prefer the spelling of 'Dorine'; it reminds me of a brand of magarine! :)

After much hassle with this supposedly simple part of conversation (!) I have begun to clarify my name by resorting to: "Oui, Hazel, comme le noix, 'Noisette'"!

                         "Yes, Hazel, like the nut, Hazelnut!"   

And this seems to be catching on as some sort of a nickname! Though recently, another nickname that I have gained from my friend seems to be crushingly popular...

Santina is another 'fille au pair' and she comes from Germany.

She has helpfully pointed out that: "In German, 'Azel' means Donkey!"

Me: "....Eeeyoreeeee! Anyway as Donkey was saying: She is hopefully going to be living in 'La Defense' area, y'know where 'La Grande Arche' is?"

Santina: .......*Cackles with laughter!*  “...In German, ‘La Grande Arche’ means the big arse! And Hazel means Donkey...So...”

Hazel: "This is my future home!!! I'm going to be a Donkey living under a Big Arse!

What else are friends for?

Well, in Santina's case making interesting cake combinations, (Roll on our Peanut and Malteser Muffins!) and who else would I share my Elevator McFlurry Moments with?

:) Bon Nuit!

From, Donkey aka. First Mate Navigator Enzo aka. Noisette aka. Commodeur Frazzle aka. Axel aka. Hazen :)