Frankie goes to Ouagadougou

We're due to leave Paris, for Ouagadougou (Burkina Faso), in a couple of hours, and thought we'd take the opportunity to publish one last post from France...and reflect on its peculiarities.

We sometimes like to watch the French equivalent of ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’ so we can practice our French and learn some random facts at the same time. One of the questions the other night was dead easy: In 1984 which group released the hit single ‘Relax’?

Among the four potential answers, one caught our eye. "Frankie goes to Ouagadougou". (The contestant did guess the correct answer, which was, of course "Frankie goes to Hollywood".)

We also took the opportunity to visit a few sights during our last couple of days. One of those sites we walked past was a cafe called "Les Deux Magots", situated in the Latin Quarter. Aside from its unusual name, it is famous for being the cafe of choice for many of France's literary heros (Albert Camus et al) during the past half-century or so.

However, one thing we know for sure is that the next great literary work won't be penned at "Les Deux Magots", unless the writer comes from the aristocracy, due to its now exceptionally pricey menu.

One of the many observations of French life is the status of the baguette. It’s not a myth that in France you see people walking around at midi (lunchtime) and in the evenings with a baguette wrapped in a bit of paper. It’s a daily ritual to buy ‘le pain’, and boulangeries (bakeries) take their bread baking very seriously.

On our walks around Paris we’ve noticed two separate boulangeries that proudly advertise in their window that they have won the prize for the ‘best baguette in Paris’ (and this is not like the much-touted ‘best coffee in Sydney’ claim, this is official) or another that boasts of being the official supplier of bread to the French President. In the display window there is even a letter from one of Sarkozy’s aides thanking the bakery for their bread.

Can you imagine Michel’s Patisserie publicising the fact that they supply Kevin Rudd with his sliced bread?

Jon & Cathlin

“Pas stupid, c’est Français”

That is my French teacher’s favourite saying, when explaining a phrase or word that doesn’t translate easily. It reads, “Not stupid, it is French”. I’ve adopted it as my own.

Anglophones can’t be too judgemental, considering all the peculiarities of our own tongue.

Nonetheless, I think the French have a lot to answer for, considering they believe they are at the forefront of logical thinking. “C’est logic”, is another favourite phrase of “ma prof”.

You would think with half as many words as the English, according to the book I’m reading, learning the language would be simple.

But why, for example, does “I love you” translate to “Je t’aime” (I you love), but “I miss you” change to “Tu me manqué” (You I miss).

Perhaps being the cultural home of philosophers explains some of the peculiarities (to anyone other than a philosopher) of the local tongue. It’s very possible the dozens of people I see in the coffee shops all day are out-of-work linguists.

I heard rumour that other groups of logical thinkers, such as engineers, moved to Germany to design autobahns.

I digress. After more than four weeks of classes, we’ve covered passé compose, future, imperfect, somewhat perfect, silly and the stupid tenses.

Aside from the difficulties of “les faux amis”, which by definition are there to trick you…there are some expressions I’m simply avoiding altogether because I can’t make sense of them. For example, “C’est terrible”. I’ve heard this expression several times, and I’ve been told it could be used to say something is great or terrible, depending on the context.

To top it off, you could say “C’est pas terrible”… bon chance in working out what that means.

Jon

Our ‘trailer home’ in the heart of Paris

Last Sunday we moved to our new place where we’ll stay til we leave Paris at the end of April. It was the easiest move we’ve ever made, because we only have 2 suitcases and our backpacks – the advantage of living very simply!

We were welcomed to our new apartment by Madame Rodriguez, a Spaniard who’s lived in Paris for over 40 years. She rents out her tiny place to students at Jon’s school, and then lives at her son’s (presumably bigger) apartment as he’s working overseas most of the time. Not a bad arrangement.

Our apartment is like a trailer home – about 14m long and 2m wide – with one room leading into the next (see pics). We think it used to be the maids’ quarters as it is in a nice big building with a wide spiral staircase and only 2 apartments on each floor. Ours is right at the top, on the 6th floor, and is accessed by a small door off the staircase. We have one window with a Paris rooftop view (of sorts), and 2 skylights that have bars across them so unfortunately we can’t climb on to the roof for a picnic.

We are thankful that it has hot water that doesn’t run out during showers, and a washing machine we can use. Funny the small things that really help make daily life more comfortable!

The décor is rather kitsch - this dog mug has been nicknamed 'Milou' (Snowy) by our friend Stuart, who was the first lucky guest to use it.

Unfortunately it doesn’t have internet access, so right now I am using the free wireless network that the Parisian council provides in parks around the city.

My work is now only 5 stops away on the metro, so it doesn’t take long at all to get to school. Jon leaves home at 8:50am to get to his school by 9am. We usually have lunch together at about 2pm when he gets back from school, if I’m not working in the afternoon.

We’re about a 15-minute walk from the Seine River, and there are loads of shops and cafés pretty much everywhere around us. We discovered the ‘Indian’ area nearby with a row of restaurants boasting identical menus and prices... but have realised that 'cheap Indian food' doesn't necessarily mean 'good Indian food'. We’ve yet to try the ‘sandwich grec’ recommended by Stuart…it’s essentially a kebab and chips served together in a Turkish bread roll.

Speaking of food, Jon and I found a street crêpe vendor who makes delicious ‘hot chocolate crêpes’ – filled with melted dark choc pieces. The vendor chats to you while he makes the crêpes, and he was joking around with Jon, but in a French accent that was quite hard to understand so Jon just smiled and nodded. We’ve decided to visit this street vendor for a weekly crêpe dessert (although I feel like eating one every day).

Here are some more pics of our place and other stuff:

Our ‘trailer home’ in the heart of Paris

Cathlin