The Bad Lift

Every morning, I take Bus 92 from Place de Marechal Juin to Charles de Gaulle Etoile. From there I take the RER A to La Defense. Every morning, I buy a couple of freshly baked pain au chocolat for breakfast.Every morning, I rely on probability to give me a sign of what the day holds for me.

I am not superstitious, merely bored. You see, we have three lifts in our building. Two perfectly fine ones and one that looks like it has been gutted and was a scene in some Terminator movie. With its wires hanging out, and its the flourescent lights (that were supposed to illuminate softly, hidden behind a steel panel),  open to the world and starkly visible on one side of the elevator thereby making everyone look older and even more tired than usual. The walls were covered hastily in a sickly green carpet, as if that would make it look any better. I wonder what they were hiding. A printed out sign, in Times New Roman, tells the story of the elevator, ‘Attention…’ it says. Since the rest is in French, the story is lost to me.

Every morning, if the first thing I get is The Bad Lift, it’s a sign that the day will be interesting.

This morning, I took the Bus 92 from Place de Marechal Juin to Charles de Gaulle Etoile. From there I took the RER A to La Defense. This morning, I bought a couple of Pain au chocolat for breakfast. Freshly baked.  This morning, I relied on probability, and the odds were against me. I got the bad lift.

I said I wasn’t superstitious, so I ignored that little signal of doom. I don’t believe in bad luck anyway. It was a busy day workwise, but that was normal. There were guests so I had my usual awkward social situations with them. Normal. I had a web conference, and that went fine, except that it was generally a waste of time. But that’s normal too.

It was almost the end of the day, so I decided to go to the toilet first to pay homage to the throne. I had to get out of the office, since the toilets were just outside, in front of the Lifts of Fate.

I do my thing (number 1 ok =P), and flush. As I turned to get out the door, my security ID flew off it’s loose case and landed straight into the flushing toilet. It circled a bit and disappeared. That was the longest flush I’ve seen in my life. My horrified eyes could do nothing but watch it go down. Drowned, gone forever, to the sewers of Paris.

Outside the toilet doors, the Lifts of Fate watched on. Tomorrow is another morning.

Rainy days

The rainy days of late brought me back to being 12 again. May was always notorious for bad weather. Some people have a knack of keeping sparkling clean despite the mucky streets. Not me. I always used get muddy streaks at the back of my trousers when I walk and even my habitual biking would give me the splashes of sludge down the back of my shirt.

I recall the big, blue plastic container we have at the back of our old house, the one that we use to trap rainwater from the eaves. There was a lack of running water back then, and we would try to collect water whenever we can.

I remember the hot, sticky humidity that clings to the silence before the storm.

It can sometimes come like a curtain of water. It starts out as an April’s Fools day of sunshine – the complacent belief you can leave your umbrella at home.  When it starts, there’s that smells that brings all the memories back, of the earth and the air being cleansed. I would look out from the dry comfort of our door and reach out my hand, hesitating slightly as if the raindrops could hurt. It has to be a certain intensity to be perfect for bathing. Not too light, cause that’s just boring and not too heavy to be scary. It had to be just enough to completely drench a twelve year old in shorts and a cotton tank top in about 5 seconds of exposure.

When it felt right, I would rush in, and the sound of rain would overpower everything else.

Today

I feel like shit today. To make it a happy day, I headed over to Mango to get a pair of jeans. I have only one pair of jeans with me here (my other pairs of jeans are in the UK and the Philippines). My current one, clearly overused, is slowly unraveling and revealing (in tiny, distressed windows) the color of my underwear. 

Skinny jeans are here again, but I didn’t want anything to do with that 1980’s remake. I made that mistake once and never again! Skinny jeans are for skinny people and with MY hips…no way, it’s just a disaster on me. I opted instead for a nice dark blue pair of boyfriend trousers. Still sexy and chic, but balances my hips with a straight, slightly flared cut. It was my lucky day cause it only took an hour for them to alter the length. It can sometimes take days.

So I thought shopping would make my slump go away. Well, it didn’t. It was a shame cause it was such a sunny day, and I could have done something incredibly interesting and bloggable.

But I didn’t want to. I just wanted to go back to my apartment, clean my junk and have a sense of control over something – like the washing machine. 

It used to be that my ‘cure’ for my homesickness is to travel. Curiousity distracts me from Longing. But I can’t travel just yet…

I don’t want to think I’m losing my wanderlust. I just think that the sheer effort of getting up, smiling and appearing normal (instead of burning the phone lines at home and my brain with the wifi) is just exhausting me and I don’t want to be like this. I really don’t.

It’s a choice to make each day, to get out and not feel sorry for yourself. I go through these phases, several times a day: Step 1, count your blessings. Step 2 Accept that this is your choice and Step 3 Look around you. Discover little things that make that particular day different from the rest. Well I did just that.

Today is special because I talked to him for as long as I could this morning.

Today I noticed how people act totally different when they think you’re not looking (when I was really watching their reflections on the dark windows of the Metro).

Today I wished I bathed in the stormy rain of yesterday. Those rainy days in the Philippines, when the raindrops feel like tiny hands massaging you, the smell of earth and just being surrounded by it.

Today I can’t figure out where the hell the adaptor for my epilator is and how to quiet all the untamed hair that calls out for it. 

Today I bought neon post-its to stick to my small map of the city, with names and directions to restaurants and interesting places.

Today I will try and start documenting my ordinary days here.  My future self will thank me for it.

flea market finds

i love gustav klimt

 but not as much as I love cats.

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Everyday is extraordinary

Today was a bad day not to have camera. This is a great reason why I should get a better phone with a decent camera.

Here are some pictures I wish I had taken:

1. A couple balancing an antique chair and a toilet bowl on their stroller. The things you find at the flea market.

 2. A kid dancing to the tune of a jazz trio performing at the corner. What a charmer! He just started dancing like he owned the place.

3.Angela's grilled pied de cochon at Au Pied de Cochon in Rue Rambuteau. It's the french version of crispy pata.

4. The brazilian jazz group playing in front of Natura Brasil at St. Germain des Pres!!! They were awesome!

Sorry about the lack of full paragraphs. I just want to write these down before I forget. Old age is catching up

random things

1. spidey 3 - watching the scene with the stereotypically french waiter….with a french audience

2. and they call him the speederman!!!

3, still on spidey — why does the local correspondent of the NY news channel have a british accent??? weird

4. cool folks — i have a japanese,monk classmate and a couture designer in my french class.

Musee Rodin

Everyone thinks that since I'm living in Paris, I have a pretty exciting life and lots of adventures on the weekends. The possiblity of adventure is there, but not every weekend of course. There are chores to be done, grocery to be bought and brought up the 5 flights of narrow, winding stairs. There is also that tug-o-war with the bed on weekend mornings…it just won't let me go!

I don't know how long I'm staying here, so I decided that every weekend will be an adventure..getting to whatever destination usually is, for me anyway. I took the metro to Varenne, to visit Musee Rodin and stand in front of the gates of hell.

It was raining lightly when I got there and it was cloudy for the first time in weeks. Probably the weather reflecting the upcoming mood for the elections tomorrow.

There were not many tourists there, and I do recommend a visit to it. The sculptures are quite evocative and in most cases, filled with longing…which reflected my mood.

 I will attach pictures once I get a chance.

sunday walks

I woke up late today, relishing the long weekend. My local boulangerie was closed today, as most establishments are on Sundays, so I decided to take Line 1 of the Metro to Bastille,. The Marais area is usually bustling even on lazy Sundays.

 I wandered into an open market, where even just the smell of fresh produce made me feel healthy. It was a bright spring morning, and sunshine always makes me happy. I followed the signs to Place des Vosgues which was once home to nobility. I was getting a bit hungry so I grabbed the neares pigeon-poop free bench and proceeded to devour my pain au chocolat, which is my new pandesal. Lovely classical music, seemingly brought by the wind, lent a pensive yet optimistic background to the scenes before me. 

 After my breakfast, and watching out for the pigeions, I walked out of the square and wandered upon a group of 8-10 musicians, who were actually creating the lovely soundtrack to the beautiful day. I stayed and listened for quite a while. I thought it was pretty amusing that their leader was a long-haired rocker type wearing  black guns and roses jacket.

Newbie Navigo

The Parisien transport system is extremely convenient and is such a luxury for me. I don’t drive and I love to walk, so cities like Paris or London are perfect for me. In Paris, even if you get lost, just wander around a bit and you’ll eventually find a way to a Metro Station or RER.

I am a bit puzzled however by their ticketing services. If you’re here for less than a week, then just buy those one-off paper tickets or a carnet (a bunch of 10 tickets), which you can use it anytime, as you please. However, when you buy the weekly or monthly carte orange, you will have to know the following facts:

1. If it’s your first time to get one, buy it at the ticket desk and not at the automated machines. You will need to get the paper card, paper ticket and the protective plastic cover that goes with it. You’ll also need a 1×1 pic for the ID portion.
2. The weekly ticket is from Monday-Sunday of the coming week and is available from the Wednesday before it. So for the week of the 26^th of March-1^st of April, you can buy it from the 21^st of March, 2007.
3. The monthly ticket is from the 1^st to the last day of the coming week and is available from the 20^th of the previous month.
4. You can also get a Navigo card, which is like London’s Oyster card. This is more convenient than the carte orange because you just need to tap it on the card readers installed at the barriers, instead of inserting a paper ticket. It also avoids the hassle of the occasional de-magnetized ticket, and avoids the mess of used up tickets littering the metro. You can get an application form at the ticket desks but it will take about 2 weeks before it gets to you. Again, have 1×1 pictures ready!!!
5. All this information is in www.ratp.fr, but of course, it won’t be in the english version of the page.

What I find a little weird is that inspite of being electronic; the Navigo still operates in the same fixed price – fixed period use of the tickets as the Carte Orange, (only that it looks nicer). It has speeds up getting through the barriers and to your train, but it hasn’t really revolutionized transport as much as only electronics and computers can.

I would have thought that being ‘pre-paid’ and electronic, surely you should be able to load it anytime so you can avoid the inevitable long queues everytime the end of the month comes near. Then again, this is a country where employees can take leaves almost all at the same time every year (which is August, tourists beware).

Rue Mesnil

It is lonely to be away from everyone you know. The technical convenience of webcams nor instant communication cannot take away that fact. It is only the beauty of the city that eases it somewhat. It is natural to seek the familiar, to give the foreign city the semblance of home.

I looked for the Filipino store today at Rue Mesnil in the 16th arrondissement to try and see how the community here is like. In Belfast, there is this lovely family that makes newcomers feel welcome and helps them find their way. As to us Filipinos, food is an unequivocal binding force, Pinoy restaurants in other countries double as information centers for services and events.

I was walking the length of Rue Mesnil, trying to look for the store sign of Marche Manille (Manila Market). Being blind as a bat, I missed it on my first pass. While I was looking around, a Jehova’s Witness evangelist, Ate Nida, approached me. It doesn’t matter which city you’re in: they will find you.

For those who have encountered this group, you know that most of them can be a bit pushy. Even if you say you are in a hurry, they will insist that it will only take a minute… and it never takes a minute. It’s unfair. I think they’re exploiting the fact that most pinoys are exceptionally polite. I thought I’d entertain her for a few minutes.

I apologize for any offense, if you are part of this group, but really, I had a traumatic experience when I was a twelve year old. This lady tried to recruit our little group and she talked to us for hours (literally), interrupting our summer games, boring us to death, and making us extremely wary of ‘It will only take a minute’.

I find that saying yes to whatever they’re inviting you to will generally make them leave you alone. I did just that and said I’ll be there on Easter Sunday. She then proceeded to sell me some magazines with captions saying that the ‘Internet is evil’. This is when I made my exit.

On my second pass of the street, a big tin can of Nido caught my eye and voila – there it is! There were two stores on the street and a small shop for takeaway food. The first store I found was the ‘Pinoy Store’ (very imaginative). The grocery section had almost everything you can see in a sari-sari store, including Lucky Me Pancit Canton (my favorite). In the takeaway shop next door, there was crispy pata, menudo, sisig, puto, turon, kutsinta – you name it. I got myself some menudo and rice, and bought some chichiria: a big bag each of cheeze curls and clover chips.

Time for lunch!

comfort food

I've been on the prowl for some chinese takeaway since I got here. For the past week, I've seen nothing but sandwiches, croissants and other different types of bread.

Thank goodness I went to level 0 of the Quatre Temps, where there's this turo-turo of chinese food for quite cheap prices. I've forgotten the name because I devoured the meal completely. I think it was Vang Hour or something. There will be no malls in Paris, so if you do need a mall, go to La Defense in Zone 3 which is at the end of Line 1.

Aaah…one craving sated. Now only if I could find the Filipino store….

day to day

It's been freezing, as of late, just when I've already packed my winter clothes and left them in the UK. I've been extended in my hotel for 10 more days, and then moving to a shiny red new apartment in the 17th arrondisement after that.

I was quite spoiled last weekend as I had some equally gluttonous people with me. On ordinary days, my main meal of the day is lunch, when we go down to the Les Collines canteen. Breakfast is just bread and coffee. Dinner time is usually a takeaway, eaten in front of my laptop while chatting with ma cheri.

It's nice to be back in civilization, and the fact that I can take the train to almost anywhere is such a luxury. The simplest things like pain au chocolat and croissants taste better — more 'chewy' and definitely fresher. I gotta find some asian restaurant soon though as I am missing my rice!!!!

The best meal I've had so far would be at the Marais area, near Pompidou where I had scallops in some tomato based sauce. Oh wow, that was awesome.  I had it with a refreshing glass of white wine. All the wines I've had so far, are certainly  the best I've had in my life,  lighter and smoother to the palate, excellent with food. Not that I'm any wine expert …at some level, alcohol is alcohol) .

McChicken, sadly, still tastes the same. 

houseguests

Seeing that I'm the only non-french speaking person on the project — I kept inviting people even before I got here so I can have some semblance of social life on the weekends. My first weekend, the team from the Netherlands came over. We spent, well, mainly eating our way to the sights. It was my first time to talk in Tagalog in a week, and the first time I had people to have dinner with. It felt good to have company after spending the whole week feeling like a total outsider.

Lea, Jonard and I went to the cementery at Pere Lachaise, where Oscar Wilde was buried, and then to the Musee D'Orsay which has the one of the most amazing collection of Impressionist paintings from Renoir, Degas, Monet and Van Gogh, just to name a few.

Today, we decided to try a walking tour. The Da Vinci code tour by Paris Muse was not worth the money, IMHO. It didn’t have a lot of information, nor did it delve into the deeper influences of the Da Vinci code. I just thought it might be a good idea to do a walking tour so I can get to know the city more intimately, but next time I’ll just do a historic tour, like what I did in Berlin instead of doing a 'pop' tour. I did learn one thing though: that Dan Brown took too much artistic license on his logistics (or perhaps he just has a bad sense of direction). I like writers who stick to the facts when the definite facts are available and he is not one of them.

We walked for about 3 hours in the inclement weather, mind you; it was raining too for a while. The cold wind is seeping back into Europe just when you thought it was already spring.

But oh man, the food warmed us up and was as heavenly as I first remembered.

View from my window

Here's the view from my window.  I'll be moving next week to an apartment but for now I wake up to this every morning

 Life can only be better if you were here.  

turning francophile

Living in Paris is entirely different from visiting Paris. It's the psychological trauma of appearing stupid because you can't speak the language. I remember my amusement at those Koreans in UP trying to learn English.

First of all, the French expect you to speak the language. It’s the least you can do after all. They probably can speak anglais, but they probably won’t.

From the Boisserre Metro Station I traversed their fairly easy to follow subway system. Colors and arrows speak a universal language. Right. First day at the job and I need to get my Medical exam done and dusted. First, I had to get to Montrouge. I preplanned my trip using the facility at www.ratp.fr which tells you the fastest way between two addresses.

Armed with my map, I make my way to Avenue Pierre Brossolette with little drama (except I had to ask for directions ONCE to a very nice lady). The map was filled with little roundabouts and I couldn’t quite figure out which end of the street I was at, as I’m terribly illiterate when it comes to mapspeak.

The whole medical exam took about an hour and several ‘parlez-vous anglais?’ to different staff. (I lie. I didn't even get that sentece right.) It wasn't even the full medical checkup, which was great, just your weight, height, eyes and a chest xray. No blood tests, urine tests and the (eew) stool tests which just makes me feel for the unfortunate folk that check them.

After my medical exam, I tried to find my way to the office in the La Defense area, which is the business district of Paris. It is situated in the glorious shadow of La Grande Arche http://www.grandearche.com/ (the building to the right of the the grande arche).

At the station, I grabbed  a simple chicken sandwich as I didn't know the facilities in the office. I just copied what the girl in front of me said ‘Un big chicken, sil vous plait’.

Only the French can make a simple takeaway chicken sandwich taste really good! The bread was soft and tasty by itself too.

On my way home, my metro billet (ticket) didn’t work Un billet nu marche pas!!!!!…I didn’t know what to do. This very nice french guy on the other side of the ticket machine tried to help me by saying I needed to ‘piggyback’, i.e., follow closely the person getting through so I can get in with them. I tried it twice but always got locked out as I was too slow (obviously a newbie). He gestured that I should follow as close as possible and even spoke to a french lady if she can slow down and let me piggyback as my ticket wasn’t working. All throughout this exchange, we spoke in the silent, awkward language of signals and my mortified laughter.

I am loving France so far. London is still calls to me as 'home' but it is Paris that I want to conquer for now.

jetlag

4 am and I can't sleep. What else is new? I've anticipated that this December will be a challenge jetlag-wise. In a span of a month, I will be doing an around the world Belfast - London - Manila - California - London - Paris. I'm not even trying to get my body clock right

 Had a very nice evening with my sibs — finally dragged my bro to the store to get him some proper shoes. We tried shirts too but nothing fit. Apprarently, people are people only do nothing more than one X(L).

Almost home…wherever home is

A couple of more days and this chapter will end I'm finally finishing my stint in Belfast, where I've lived for 2 years and 3 months. I am thrilled to leave — not to say that I did not learn a lot in my time here. I know when a place cannot be called home. I don’t belong here.

Paris awaits next year. I am starting anew, constantly rediscovering myself and wondering what my beliefs will be in a years’ time. It’s unbelievable how so much can change in a year. Travel can change you. It will challenge your identity; force you to make a stand for who you are, where you came from and who you want to be. The past two years has been an absolute journey and shatters all judgment and prejudice.

I won't be going back to Manila as often as before, maybe now only once or twice a year. I just want to take away as much as I can from this incredible opportunity. I know I have to establish myself elsewhere and I can't do that if I keep referring to Manila as my home. It’s now YOUR turn to come visit where I live and work.

Finding place of Release

At the Temple of Zeus in Athens, this tombstone read quite simply "Finding place of release". I do not know if it was meant  for the deceased or for those he left behind.

The reality of death — a slow free-fall of acceptance. The past month has been incredibly difficult and life-changing (as all difficult things go). A few unexpected turn of events proved that time is a puzzle carefully crafted, slowly revealing its face.

It is heartbreaking. Knowing that you want to give more, but can't…ever.

It was the first time that funerals made sense to me. It was the release of giving it your best and last shot, that in the remotest instance that they might be aware of your efforts, you can tell them one last time how much you love them and how much you'll miss them.

I'll stop now. It is too early for me to write about acceptance and release.

please…

I hope everything falls into place today.

What if

Life is funny. It keeps you guessing, like a good detective novel. On the edge of your seat for the next chapter. Whodunnits, whys and whens. Hard to tell, really. Events have kept me sleepless some nights and giddy the next.

It can drive you insane.

I guess this is why we invented faith. I like faith. Hope is too sunny – but Faith is acceptable to a worrywart like me. Things that are bound to happen will happen, no matter how much you plan ahead. There really are no ‘bad’ decisions, just forks in the path that bring you to where you should be at the moment.

So really, there is no reason to worry and plan for the worst case. There is always a plan B for the worst case. You can always move on.