Franco-vile

May 5, 2009

Usually, I enjoy meeting French people because it provides me a chance to try my French and reminisce about my semester abroad in Paris. That being said, when I encounter a particularly whiny and annoying Frenchy, I’m really not that keen to spend more time with him or her.

Also staying at our lodge is a French woman who is checking out African safari lodges as part of her travel agent job (By the way, who works as a travel agent these days?). She doesn’t speak English very well and insists on not speaking French to me, even though I offered multiple times to make her life easier.

And since it became clear that Charlotte York and I are not a romantic couple, she somehow managed to snag a seat at our table for lunch and for dinner today, thereby annoying the crap out of us.

I feel bad for the poor woman because she’s traveling alone, but this is her job! Plus, she only asks questions about travel (What airline did you fly? What boutique hotels do you enjoy in San Francisco? How does this lodge compare to others you’ve stayed at?) or complains about the weight she’s gained on this trip (Well, I live by the beach – you know how it is.).

And tonight, she had the audacity to answer her cell phone while at our table and she lit up a cigarette after making a big deal about how she quit smoking … last night. Furthermore, she accidentally blew out our table’s candle, yet insisted on bothering another table for a lighter. And on top of everything else, she wore a turquoise scrunchy in her hair.

She basically drove Charlotte York and I back to our room as soon as we were done with dinner. I think it was pretty obvious that we both were having an excruciating dining experience, but we didn’t care.

Bienvenue à Montréal!

After a full day of travel, I've arrived in Montreal and I'm currently feasting on room service in my hotel room. I've never been here before, and I wasn't expecting to spend much time sightseeing, but it looks like I have a good amount of time tomorrow to explore, thanks mostly to the fact that I forgot my VPN token and cannot get into my work network.

I never really thought of Canada as being too exotic, but it really does seem like another world here. The default language is French (and similarly to France, when I try to respond in French, everyone switches to English) and there is sort of a charming old-world European feel.

I was hoping to catch up on some television tonight, but I cannot find the CW or MTV. What I have discovered, however, is that some American shows are broadcast in English while others are dubbed over in French. I wonder what determines whether a show gets translated or not.

La télévision

Those marketers sure are crafty these days! How did the people at TV5MONDE know to send me a special offer, announcing the US arrival of the French language channel? And to think, if I act quickly, I can receive three months free with free installation!

I'm not sure how they knew that I'm a francophile panda, but I actually paused to consider this offer. Fortunately, I came to my senses since I watch far too much television to begin with.

Cattle call

I flew from Delhi to Cochin, in southern India this morning, thus ending a 22-hour stay in the nation's capital. Our car picked us up at 5:30am and we traversed the deserted streets to the domestic airport (the domestic and international airports are separate, but a new airport is to be built by the 2010 Commonwealth Games).

The car dropped us off and we were thrust into the middle of a crowd of people, funneling their way through the doors. People weren't exactly pushing, but there was definitely pressure coming at me from all sides, encouraging me to hurry and to squeeze through the airport entrance.

Upon moving through the main lobby, we stood in line to enter another security area. A be-suited man approached me and tried to squeeze his way into the line ahead of me. I think he sensed my annoyance and turned to me and said, "I enter in here?"

With a scowl on my face, I replied, "Um, I think there's a line" and he got in line behind me, but ahead of the dozens of people who were already in line behind me.

Upon entering the security area, our bags passed through a screen before we took them to wait in another disorganized line to check in and get our boarding passes. After that line, we waited in another line to go through the personal security point.

Unlike in the US, security seemed much more lax. I didn't have to take off my shoes, they allowed me to bring through a bottle of water and I kept my belt and jacket on.

Throughout my morning airport experience, I felt like I was in a sea of humanity. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be doing (thank goodness for my colleagues from The Corporation) and people clearly saw that I was a lost panda, just crowd surfing through the process.

Like the international airport, the domestic airport was pretty grimy. Everything in India seems to be covered in a layer of dirt and grease. I sort of didn't want any part of my self to touch the plane seat, but I really had no choice.

Le diplôme

Everyone warned me that choosing French literature as one of my undergraduate majors was "worthless" and that I'd never need it in "real life." And to an extent, I agree with those assessments. I did, however, get to spend a semester in Paris so it didn't really matter to me.

But today, at The Corporation, I actually had to use my rusty French skills! I spent about half an hour watching a Parisian news broadcast that aired yesterday and prominently featured The Corporation. Then I had the fine task of summarizing it for my boss and some folks in our media relations team.

Now, who's the sucker for reading Illusions perdues? Oh, wait...

Foux da fa fa

I love me some "Flight of the Conchords" and just saw an episode that featured this Frenchy video:

Baguette!

je resens ce qui nous sépare ...

All this Frenchy talk makes me think of the incomparable Mylène Farmer and how Flabs and I would listen to this lovely song while daintily munching on café noir cookies in Paris. Perhaps if I had seen the video, I might not have loved it as much as I do. I miss the FNAC!

j'avais perdu l'enfer ...

Internets, I've been totes froggy lately and the francophile in me has been emerging. I had a fun night with the amigas tonight, but I'll elaborate on that later. In the meantime, I really feel like listening to a bit of Pascal Obispo!

Paris, je t'aime!

Franny turned me on to this here bloggie that details some of the culinary treasures one can find in Gay Paree. Reading through his suggestions, I begin to wax nostalgic at the four months I spent in Paris, as a young panda, honing my français while exploring this marvelous city with a gaggle of friends.

I remember playing "I never" with the girl who didn't quite get it and used every turn to tell a hilarious and bizarre story about her youth.

I remember desperately wanting to open a bottle of wine, but being unable to do it, so we jammed the cork down the middle of the bottle's neck, where it got stuck. We punctured a hole through the cork and slurped it up while sitting on a sidewalk at 4 in the morning.

I remember dining with my veuve, Mme. Grolleron, who would excitedly cut a chunk of her baguette with such force that she would nearly develop whiplash every time.

I remember sitting in class at La Sorbonne and thinking that French classrooms were so old, stately and ornate.

I remember walking to a friend's apartment, dressed to explore the ravey underbelly of the city and being mistaken for a prostitute.

I remember the weird co-ed showers with men in thongs when I tried one afternoon to practice with a French swim team.

I remember the American girls in my program who fell in love with French boys and gave it up in the name of true romance.

I remember going out with my friend and her best friend's hot boyfriend with the tribal tattoo on his scalp, who decided that he wanted to try kissing a boy for the first time and declared that we needed to make out all night.

I remember cooking French dinners with Flabs, using unrefrigerated milk in tetrapacks, while listening to "Comme J'ai Mal" by Mylène Farmer and "Personne" by Pascal Obispo.

I remember all the macarons, the fallafel, the baguettes, the crêpes, the paninis, the fromage, the fondue, the ... omigod the food was so delish!

Ahem, anyway, it was a lovely time in a young panda's life and I'll list the blog up in the "cubiclentertainment" section for y'all to read along if you wish!

Les souvenirs

Of all the friends I'm in contact with today, SameBrain is probably the one I've known the longest, with one or two exceptions. Panda!!!! was thrilled to hear that she was visiting San Francisco for a little work assignment, thus enabling us to spend a lovely dinner together.

We tucked ourselves away at a little French bistro where everything was absolutely exquisite and perfect. We had escargôts en croute, three kinds of patés, a tangy lemony trout for me and a perfectly prepared cow for her. Even our champagne cocktails (bellini! kir royale!) were perfectly made - not too sweet, yet full of flavor.

Our conversation ranged from current gripes about our jobs to our lackluster love lives to the delicious food to woes about our crazy families and, of course, to Lauren Conrad of "The Hills." Like many pairs of old friends, we can quickly pick up our conversations where we last left off, even if it's been months. A friendship that spans years of our antics (singing our respective roles to "Here Comes Your Man"; rapping "Short, tall, skinny, flacas! Even y'all with the big ol' knockas!"; fashioning our own outfits "It's easy, all you need is a pattern, right?"; eating ho-ho's while watching skinemax ... ) is fairly strong by now and we've definitely evovled together.

Anyway Internets, it was a terrific night that was cut off only because we're too old to go on! This responsible Panda!!!! is heading to bed before reporting to The Corporation for some envelope stuffing tomorrow morning!

Vive la France!

Aujourd'hui c'est le 14 juillet.

Allons, enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive,
Contre nous de la tyrannie
L'etendard sanglant est leve,
L'etendard sanglant est leve.

Entendez-vous, dans le campagnes,
Mugir ces feroces soldats?
Ils viennent jusque dans no bras,
Egorger nos fils, nos compagnes.

Aux armes, citoyens! Formez vos bataillons! Marchons! Marchons!
Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!