Jeudi Noir

"La France est un pays de contestation perpétuelle," I was once told. The French are always striking about something. Sarkozy even went so far as to state that the French protest so much, it has become an ineffectual act that goes unnoticed most every time. But now that the man is threatening to cut jobs and funding from various sectors due to the economic crisis, half-assed picketing just will not do! The SNCF got involved, the national library, the Opera! What, May Day in January? Why, no! It's Black Thursday! While the Media predicted mayhem in the streets and on the metro, I found commuting to Bastille from Montmartre surprisingly easy today. How come? Well, it would seem that by the time I reached my destination, 2 million other people had already arrived...

Want to read more? Here is an article from The Telegraph.

Obamarama

Despite not being American, and despite being halfway across the world, in FRANCE of all places, my friend Katherine and I had a little Obama inauguration party right at home, in my hovel. Here is a photo of an excited Canadian taking a photo of Bush flying out of DC in his shiny green helicopter. Bon voyage, Dubya!

We shifted back and forth between CNN's coverage of the event and the French version we were able to capt on the airwaves. Image and sound quality were, hands down, better on the TV than on the broadband, but we are only human, and there's only so much interpretation of one's own language that one can take before losing it and renouncing said second language altogether.

Our celebration of Obama's inauguration meal, made possible by the countertop in my new hovel.

In other news, remember hypercolour? I do. But hypercolour tables? WTF!?!

Only in France, my friends. Viva Obama!

Photo of the day

Before leaving for the great land of France, I went to a few meetings mostly hosted by older men whose task it was to inform me about what to anticipate during my big year abroad. At one of these meetings, the OFQJ handed me a pamphlet informing me that I should expect to pay 0.80 euros for a baguette. Ladies and gentlemen, I have never seen a baguette listed for such a low price... until today! So surprised was I that I felt compelled to take a photo of this very reasonable list of prices posted on the door. The little girl's priceless facial expression at her obvious awareness of being photographed by a creepy stranger was simply an unexpected perk. Way to steal the show, little girl! I don't even think I could tell you the exact location of this bakery if I tried. Montmartre. West of the Sacré Coeur. Au bas de la butte. Hell, I don't even know if it's any good... But it is open on Sunday. A rarity worthy of being noted indeed!

Hovel Sweet Hovel

I have moved! New 'hood, new hovel. It's modern. It's IKEA. It's dominated by the most gaudy shade of blue, which I've been trying to offset with various splashes of pink. It's no castle but everything works (which is nice), although the cashier at "La Maison Collignon" seems to want to marry me despite his being old enough to be my grandfather. I may have to seek out a new corner store. Oh, did I fail to mention that the new hovel is located on a famous street? Rue des Trois Frères, just a few doors over from Amélie Poulain's fictional abode, which I didn't even gather until after I moved in, go figure! The neighbourhood's cobblestone streets are windy and hilly, everything is too cute for words, and the sidewalks are a tad less crowded than the Marais. The garret itself doesn't look anything like a Jean-Pierre Jeunet film, but I've prepared a little tour nonetheless. Please, do come in!

The view.

The kitchen

The lord of the land claims that the eyesore that hangs above the bed was painted by a famous artist, and I'm under strict orders to "take care" of it. Does that mean I can't prop it upside-down against the window? Sigh.

I probably hit my head on the suspended TV about once every other day.

These glass bricks provide the much needed illusion of daily sunlight for my clothes, which is just wonderful. Who wants SAD affected clothing anyway? Not me!

Ha! That bed thinks it's a couch!

The west side of the hot plate doubles as a tea house.

The saddest fruit bowl in the world.

Thank you, MTV. Now that you've seen my crib, get out!

Paris sous la neige

Even Victor Hugo is feeling the cold... Misérable!