When In Rome

Hello again my loves! I am a forgetful, spastic person and once again I forgot to update the blog. I don’t even have Spore as an excuse this time. I just forgot. But it’s all okay because here I am again! On with the show.

We left off in the train station after arriving in Rome. There, we collected our baggage from the baggage compartments and headed out into the city. After a rather amusing incident where we took the wrong road and ended up going in the opposite direction from our apartment, we found the place we were going to and dragged our luggage up five flights of stairs to collapse on the very squishy and comfortable couches.

After resting for a bit, we headed out to see the Colosseum, since it was nearby and we had no other pressing concerns at the time. We wandered down in that direction, observing the differences between Rome and Naples – Rome is very clean, and the streets are overall quite wide and straight. And the drivers are positive saints compared to the Neapolitan drivers. We came up the street to get our first view of the Colosseum – and was it ever magnificent. Seriously, that thing is huge, even with more than half of the outer wall knocked down. We headed down the stairs to ground level, passing numerous cheap tourist junk stands and a group of incredibly talented dancers performing on the street to do a circuit of the Colosseum and check out the Arch of Constantine. Upon finishing our circuit, we went to buy some groceries (pasta again) and returned to the apartment for dinner.

Here, I will pause for a moment to talk about our physical state at the time. After over a week of steady travelling and spending most of our days on our feet, we were quite tired already by this point. On top of that, mom was already somewhat ill, and I seemed to be picking up the edges of her sickness. Adding fuel to the fire, the beds in our Roman apartment, or at least the one I was sleeping on, were quite uncomfortable. It was also at this point that I really started missing Nami and various other people I’m in regular contact with. Altogether, it made for a rather exhausting few days, and for this reason, our adventures in Rome were not quite as energetic as they had been in Naples and Venice.

Once mom and dad had picked up our museum and transport passes, we spent most of the first full day in Rome simply exploring the city. We visited the Spanish Steps, climbing up all of what we think we remember as 176 steps to the church at the top of it. We wandered down to look at various historical buildings, then made our way slowly back towards the Pantheon, which we investigated with great enthusiasm. There, we found Jason, a very enthusiastic tour guide from Louisiana who has been living in Italy for the past nine years, giving tours. He was doing a free tour of the Pantheon, and took us around, explaining the significance of the cross-capped Egyptian obelisk out front (Christ’s triumph over “pagan influence”) and detailing some of the history of the structure. It was from him that we learned that Michelangelo had been so impressed with the Pantheon that, when he designed the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica, he deliberately made it half  a metre shorter than the dome of the Pantheon, in honour of the “perfection” of the ancient structure – a building so stable that the earthquakes that knocked down the outside walls of the Colosseum had no discernible effect on it. Finished with the tour, we wandered back towards home, checking out the Trevi Fountain along the way, then buying groceries (more pasta) and turning in early in preparation for our visit to the Vatican the next day.

The next morning, we were out early (for us) around eleven to visit the Colosseum in the morning. Thanks to our pre-purchased museum cards, we got to skip the lines and go straight in, whereupon we climbed very steep stairs to check out the artifacts they had found (mostly sculptures, bones, and gambling paraphernalia), then went around the inside walls to get a good look at the arena floor, which had been destroyed and showed the underground rooms and corridors where they had kept the slaves and allowed entrance to the warriors and animals who rose up from the floor in the games. Then we caught the metro across the river, arriving promptly in St. Peter’s Square for our 1:30 tour of the Vatican with Jason.

And I must say, he’s both hilarious and a great tour guide. He told us about the history of the building, as well as the belief that St. Peter himself is buried under the basilica – a belief that may have been confirmed by some excavations in the last few decades, when a team discovered what they think are the bones of Peter. We headed around the outside of the square, checking out the wall that saved the Pope’s life when the Protestants sacked the city in the 1500s, as well as the area of housing that had set up to be a safe place for the pilgrims who came to visit the Vatican. Along the way to the museum, Jason told us about Michelangelo’s belief that sculpture was a superior art form to painting, and the sculpture project he was hired for that never got completed, because the architect of the Basilica talked the Pope into employing Michelangelo in the painting of the Sistine Chapel in order to keep “his” Basilica from being dominated by Michelangelo’s sculptures. However, his plan may have backfired, since Michelangelo’s paintings became some of the most famous works of the Renaissance, and his sculpture, Pieta, is still on display in the Basilica.

We headed through the museum relatively quickly, checking out various Renaissance-era and ancient sculptures of Greek Gods and Goddesses, including the rather famous sculpture of Laocoon and His Sons, beset by snakes when he tried to strike the Trojan Horse in suspicion. We also saw various ancient mosaics, a statue of the Artemis of Ephesus, tapestries, paintings, and an entire room of paintings by Raphael, including his famous School of Athens – absolutely incredible, and one of my favourite Renaissance paintings. Its colour is beautiful, the perspective is incredible, and the thing is huge – an entire wall of fresco. From there, we proceeded to the Sistine Chapel itself, where we witnessed the Last Judgement, the Creation of Adam, and all the other paintings on the ceiling and those on the walls.

No visit to the Vatican, however, would be complete without taking a look at St. Peter’s Basilica, so, after the tour finished, we headed inside to see the most magnificent, opulent church in the world. And it truly is incredible – even the “unimportant” sculptures and works of art tucked into corners and around pillars are amazing. And then, off to the side, we saw the Pieta. It was so incredible that I cried.

After that, it turns into a bit of a blur. Small moments stand out – hearing the choir sing as the evening mass started; the sculpture of St. Peter with the foot worn smooth from millions of worshippers over the course of history rubbing or kissing it for luck; the young woman who came in for the mass who crossed herself with tears of joy in her eyes. By the time we left, I had cried myself out. My last memory of the Vatican is looking up at the building where the Pope lives as we left and seeing that two of his lights were on.

The next day was much more relaxed. We wandered around more of the city, checking out a tiny museum of decorative art, a (somewhat out of place) stone pyramid, a monument to the victims of Italy’s fascist regime, and the old bathhouses, which we unfortunately arrived too late at to enter. Then we headed back to the apartment for dinner (pasta!) and one more night. The next day, we packed up for the last time and headed off to the train station, catching our train to the airport and getting on a plane back to Toulouse. We arrived home in the afternoon rain and collapsed in welcome rest, our holiday finally over.

Neapolitan Adventures

Oh hello again internet! I forgot about the promised blog posts because I am a spaz with a short attention span who plays too much Spore. But that is okay and I am back now. So here we go, onto the next leg of the Italian adventure: Naples and Pompeii!

We arrived in Naples late in the evening after leaving for Venice, where we caught a taxi from the airport into town. This was my first introduction to the knowledge that Italian Drivers Are Crazy and Naples Drivers Actually Drive With Their Horns, Not Their Wheels. Everyone beeps their horn constantly – but it’s not because they’re angry (even though, with the way everyone drives, crossing lanes and cutting you off all over the place, they have plenty of reason to be). No, it is in fact because they just want to let know know something – sometimes simply that they are there and you should take that into account, and sometimes that you are a bastard motherfucker with the driving skills of a pig. It’s occasionally hard to tell.

Anyway, after a somewhat terrifying drive through the city, we arrived safely in our apartment, where are very short, adorable landlady who didn’t speak any English tried to explain to us how the appliances worked and get us settled in. Then we headed out to hunt down a restaurant, as it was rather late by this point, and by sheer luck stumbled onto a rather nice place that made wonderful pizza and even better salad. Despite a mixup where dad’s calzone didn’t arrive until substantially after the rest of the food, it was rather enjoyable. My favourite part was probably the wandering guitar-playing musician who sang to us for a while.

That’s another interesting thing about Italy – people sing everywhere. They’re not shy about it at all. You can walk into a grocery store and half the time one of the employees will be singing while putting out the stock. It’s actually rather awesome.

Anyway, the next morning, we got up and headed out to explore the city, investigating a palace and an old church while mom and dad got some tourist information. Then we ran around a bit looking for places to buy our city passes and transport cards. Upon our success, we headed into the historical heart of the city, where we didn’t see much of significance except for the oldest marble statue in Naples, but did have a good time looking at bizarre churches, monuments, and old buildings squished between modern apartment buildings.

Also, deep fried spaghetti. Weird, but strangely delicious.

The next day, we got up early and caught the train out to POMPEII!

…

Sorry, I had to pause there to pose dramatically.

Anyway, these trains were a bit more like metro trains than the kind you’d actually want to travel in, but Pompeii was relatively nearby. After a bit of a mixup that saw us waiting at a graffiti-covered station in the middle of the poorer neighbourhood and inspired Shona’s and my next photoshoot, we got on the right train and came out in Pompeii.

And holy shit, it was incredible. If you ever get the chance, GO. There is nothing like it in the world.

We wandered all over the city – to the amphitheatre, the coliseum, the forum, the temples, the houses, the streets, the vineyards, the bathhouses. We hopped across the stepping stones placed at crosswalks to keep the ancient citizens’ feet out of the mud. We investigated ancient Roman fast food joints. We saw pomegranate trees growing in places that haven’t yet been excavated. We saw the bones of people who died in the eruption. We went through the brothel, giggling at the rather well-preserved frescoes of bedroom acts. I swiped a couple lumps of pumice stone for a friend. We crisscrossed the whole city, or at least as much of it as we could without dropping from exhaustion, before finally making it home to collapse.

Our third day in Naples was mostly spent hopping around on the cable cars and the metro to ultimately get us to the archaeological museum. There, we witnessed a vast and rather wonderful collection of statues, mostly of gods, muses, and heroes, a giant gallery of paintings, mosaics and artifacts from Pompeii, and the “secret cabinet” – a room dedicated entirely to the sexual artifacts of the ancient Romans. There, we witnessed several… interesting… frescoes, some rather bizarre statues, many small stone penis charms, a few odd brass sculptures (I kid you not, there was a flying penis with a pair of legs and a penis of its own, and one of a hero fighting against his own penis, which had apparently turned into a vicious monster of some sort), as well as a rather amusing mosaic of the god Priapus, whose erect penis is about the length of one of his own legs and twice as thick.

I could not make this stuff up if I tried.

We had our final dinner in Naples – pasta, again, we ate rather a lot of it and none of us got sick of it because pasta is AWESOME – that night, then once again got everything packed up and ready to leave for the morning. Then we said goodbye to our rather wonderful apartment with its marvellously comfortable beds, and headed off to the train station to get on the train to Rome. The ride was generally uneventful, except for a hustler dragging us and our suitcases onto the train at top speed and demanding money for his service (dad gave him five euros instead of twenty). We pulled into Rome in good time – finally starting the last leg of our adventure.

Hello Venezia!

Hello again, Canada! Here I am, back from Italy, and as promised, I will present to you a full report of my adventures there. This is the first of three parts: Venice! Photos from the first three (and a bit) days of the trip have already been posted on Facebook, so make sure to check them out.

The start of our adventure was early afternoon in Toulouse, when we rolled our suitcases down to Jean Jaures station and caught the airport bus out to Toulouse-Blagnac. Barring a minor setback at security (where they took my craft scissors – seriously, my freaking CRAFT scissors) the trip went smoothly, we caught our connection in Lyon, and arrived safe and sound in the Venice airport that evening. Then we took a waterbus into the lagoon, where we got installed in our apartment (which was super ritzy, by the way – the one we were supposed to get needed repairs so they offered us another apartment at a seriously reduced rate – and it overlooked the Grand Canal!) and then went out to get dinner at a nice pizza place our landlady recommended.

The excitement didn’t really start until the next morning, when we got up (at a decent hour, for us) and headed out to explore the city. I say we, but I really mean me, mom, and the siblings – dad had to go pick up his race kit for the marathon the next day. So we wandered down the main street, checking mask shops and trinket booths all the way, until we eventually came to the Rialto Bridge and, from there, to St. Mark’s Square.

And let me just say, it is absolutely incredible. Venice is possibly the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen, even with all the tacky tourist crap. I got some lovely photos in the square while we wandered around, looking for a place to buy waterbus passes and museum cards.

We were eventually successful in our mission, and so, pausing to get some midafternoon sandwiches on the way, we wandered back to the apartment.

The next morning, dad was out long before any of us, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, for the marathon. The rest of us got up at a more leisurely pace, catching the waterbus down to the finish line, where we cheered him on. Eventually, we met up with him in a park full of nifty statues and big trees, to decide on our plan of attack. It was concluded that he would head home, while the rest of us (despite some whining on the brother’s part) would go to investigate the Correr Museum.

Unfortunately, once inside, I learned that we weren’t supposed to be taking pictures by being yelled at in Italian by a very stern museum curator, but other than that the visit was quite enjoyable. The museum was full of historical artifacts, old books, paintings, maps, statues, sculptures, frescoes, glass chandeliers, and weapons. It really drove home Venice’s unique history as an independent city-state. By the time we had finished wandering through there, we were quite tired of walking, so we caught the bus back to the apartment.

On our third day in Venice, we went out to Murano, the glassmaking island – several centuries ago (I forget exactly when) all the workshops were moved out there to prevent them from setting fire to the city. Our first stop was the glass museum, where we learned about the process of blowing glass – which is awesome, by the way – and looked at various pieces from all stages of Venetian history. Then we wandered down towards the foundries, investigating shops all the way, until we got to an open workshop, where we sat and watched a professional glassmaker and his assistant make parts for a chandelier, as well as a little glass horse sculpture that they knocked off for fun (and tips). On the way home, we tried to stop at the cemetery island, but unfortunately it was closed, so we got back on the boat and headed back to Venice proper, taking the scenic route through the ghetto area – the oldest ghetto in the world. In fact, the word “ghetto” is believed to come from a corruption of geto or “foundry,” as the Jews were forced to live in the area that had been vacated by the glassmakers moving out to Murano. Today, very few Jews actually live in the area, but there are synagogues, a museum, points of historical interest, and many kosher shops.

The next morning, our last in Venice, we went down to St. Mark’s again to visit the Doge’s Palace – the former seat of government from Venice’s days of independence, and the residence of the Doge, or elected duke, who governed the city in its early years and served as a figurehead in the later centuries of the republic. We saw his private quarters, the council rooms and state areas, and the prisons, as well as many paintings by famous Italian paintings of the Renaissance, including the widest canvas painting in the world. There were so many details flying past my face that most of them, at this point, have completely slipped my mind.

After the Doge’s Palace, we headed back to the apartment for the last time, picked up our stuff, and caught the waterbus to the only area of the city with access by car. Then we got on the airport bus and headed across the causeway to the airport. Our last view over the Venetian lagoon was a spectacular sunset as we took off.

Naples and Pompeii are on the agenda for tomorrow, but for now, I will say, ciao, and goodnight to all!

And thus, we venture into the wild!

Otherwise known as ITALY. Tomorrow, we’re catching a flight out of Toulouse that will ultimately bring us to Venice, where we will see the canals, look at pretty Venetian glass, and dad will run a(nother) marathon. Then after a few days of that, we’re off to Naples and Pompeii, and then on to the central metropolis, Rome itself! We will be wandering about the Italian countryside for almost two weeks until our return, upon which I will give you a full report. Until then, I will be sadly free of an internet connection since apparently Italian apartments don’t come with wi-fi. So! Ciao for now, and expect lots of pretty pictures upon my return.

The Joys of Social Interaction

Remember those clubs I was mentioning? They’ve finally started up, and life is good! I met a whole bunch of people at a GLBT organization, and had a great time trying to decipher the rapid-fire French. It was fun, though, and I plan to go back and hang out with people next chance I get – unfortunately I’m missing their meeting next Saturday due to being in Italy (although all things considered I think it’s worth it). One of the girls from that club, Audrey, also invited me out to dinner earlier this week, so I went out with her and her girlfriend (Lucy)  and we got shawarma and talked for several hours and I got home at something like eleven – also awesome.

Then there was also the conversation group I went to on Thursday. That was also rather fun, if an admirable exercise in mass chaos (the ‘tender at the bar forgot to reserve the tables he was supposed to so we ended up moving across the street to another place). I spent a while talking with some German students in English, then we moved over to the other table and I met an adorable Scottish girl named Morgan who was chatting in French, and then there were some more German people, this time who didn’t speak English and were working their way through French – and then Morgan and I and three of the French-speaking Germans went out to get crepes with a Persian guy named Reza (which made me extremely happy for reasons very few people will understand) who spoke both French and English. All in all, it was an excellent evening and I once again stayed out rather late (until ten, this time), and I now have several contacts and email addresses. Unfortunately that group doesn’t meet up very often, so I won’t be going out with them until next month, but hopefully I’ll be able to get together with some people.

There’s also a group my mom’s been going out with called English in Toulouse, and I think if I’m having a slow week or something, I’ll go out with her and see how that goes. Maybe if I’m out with her I can help her avoid getting beer spilled on her and/or managing to miss dinner hours so that all she has in her stomach is a few drinks. Still, she’s been having fun, so I guess that’s what counts. No one’s getting themselves into trouble at least.

So Toulouse has been decently entertaining now that I’ve managed to connect with some people. The city is as bustling as ever, but that’s just fine by me. When I want to be around people, I can slip outside and immerse myself in the chatter of the city – and when I want to be alone, I can wrap myself up in my housecoat and slippers with a mug of tea and one of my many projects. As far as I’m concerned, life is good.

New Galleries!

A very French lunch.

Hey everyone! Just wanted to update to let you know that I haven’t been idle. I’ve put up some new photo galleries in the last few days, so check them out. There’s one of assorted things from my wanderings around Toulouse, most of them somewhat artistic in nature; I also took pictures at the Musée des Augustins, the Toulousian fine art museum, and some at the Cathédral Saint-Etienne, which is my favourite church in Toulouse. I also managed to capture a few sneaky shots of people around the city, so you can get a better idea of the French, as well as France itself.

Yesterday was my birthday, and despite still not having any friends to hang around with, I’d say it was a success. We went out to dinner at a restaurant I’m fond of and had delicious crepes and salad; I also got some new books, in English, which makes me very happy as I am dying of literature deprivation over here. And I got a nifty old pocket watch (broken, but it makes for gorgeous jewellery) an adorable hat with kitty ears on it, and a fancy knife to replace the one that got confiscated by French airport security when I accidentally left it in my bag. Overall, I’d say, life is good. Mom and dad and I are also going out to a somewhat fancier restaurant tomorrow for an “adults only” dinner (holy crap, I’m an adult).

A row of gargoyles in the Musée des Augustins.

Things seem to be looking up on the making friends front as well. I’ve finally made solid contact with that club I’ve been trying to get info on for the last three weeks or so, and I’ll be attending their first meeting on Saturday, a week from now. Even if I ultimately decide not to keep coming to the club meetings, hopefully I’ll be able to make some friends to hang out with now and then. Maybe sometime soon I’ll be able to start using my allowance for – gasp! – lunch dates or movies!

Anyway, that’s life in my world. In the meantime, I’m keeping myself occupied – writing, taking far too many photos, browsing market stalls, drawing in the park. France is finally starting to cool down a bit, for which I am thankful. I like fall best of all.

So how are all of you?

The Interim

I have come to realize that this year is something like putting my life on pause for a while. Yes, it is an incredible experience, and I’m amazingly glad to be here. I love the city. I love learning about the culture. I am perpetually interested in everything. But still, when you’ve grown accustomed to marking your life by the school year, having it suddenly cut off, while exhilarating, is also a little disorienting.

We’re well and truly settled in now. Shona and Tristan have finally started school properly, after the chaos of placement tests and open spots at school and schedule shuffling and fighting with the weird hours and class times. They’re making friends. They’ve both had people over for sleepovers already. Dad is working, as he always has; mom has settled into her domestic life, here as at home, and is looking for dance classes to take. This is normal life for them. Me, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.

I had a meeting a few days ago with a volunteer organization called Secours Populaire. I left a file with them for their volunteer tutoring program – hopefully soon I’ll get matched with a high school student I can help with their English. For now, though, they didn’t have any files for me. The year has only just started and there aren’t many students looking for help yet. I’m considering putting up fliers or something – maybe even at the universities. I could even try charging them for it. But I just don’t know. It’s all very foreign to me. I’m not used to having to actively create opportunities to meet people.

You don’t realize how much of your social life is built around your school schedule until it’s suddenly gone.

I’ve tried looking into a club, as well – I subscribed to their newsletter, and I sent them an email. I haven’t heard back yet, though. I’m worried. Their website was last updated for the 2007-2008 school year, and even though various universities still have them listed on their clubs pages, I’m concerned that they might not be running anymore. But all I can do is wait and hope – there’s no way to force an answer on the matter, unless I want to try fumbling my way through a French phone conversation. Frankly, I’d rather wait – though if I don’t get an answer from them soon I might have to look at some other clubs. An art club, maybe. If I like what they’re doing.

But none of this helps me shake the feeling that my life is on hold. I’ll join a club – for nine months. Then I’ll never be involved with it again. I’ll make a few friends – who I’ll see every now and then, for this year. Then I’ll be gone and, while they may remain my friends on Facebook, chances are we’re not going to talk too much, and we’ll probably never see each other again, barring some strange accident of fate. I’ll entertain myself with this free time for a year – then I’ll be back home and back at school, getting involved in the curriculum and the student life again, seeing my friends in classes, meeting up with my girl every weekend instead of just over the internet. And as much as I don’t regret coming here for the year, I still find myself longing for that future life. Planning for it.

I want desperately to go through my entire wardrobe, one last time, and get rid of everything I don’t care about – most of it, half of it, any of it that doesn’t matter anymore. I want to sort through every drawer and cupboard and cabinet and shelf in my room and discard everything not of importance. I want to sort through the hundreds of books in my room, decide which ones I want to keep, which ones I want to save, and which ones I no longer care about. I want to put things into bags and give them away, or give them to my siblings, or give them to my mother to sort onto the household shelves. I want to take down all my old posters and hand them out to people who would want them. I want to discard all the little pieces of junk I still have lying around. I want to clean everything out, remove it, and move on. Then I want to take all of the things I’ve decided to keep, pack them into boxes, and move out. I want to leave my furniture in my room only as a testament to my existence, and one day, I want to move all of it out, too, and move it into my new home, my own home.

I want my own home. I want my own life.

I want to start collecting recipe books. I want to learn how to operate all the household appliances. I want to get my own toaster. I want to make a list of all the movies I someday want for my own, and I want to build up my own collection. I want to collect all of the things around the house that I know to be mine, and take them with me. I want to be able to set my own schedule, my own rules, my own rhythms.

I’m turning eighteen in eleven days. In less than two weeks, I will be a legal adult, and I want something to show for it.

It’s raining here today. Really raining – not storming at night or raining briefly and lightly for a while in the afternoon – for the first time. Maybe I’ll go out for a walk. Maybe the rain is a new beginning. Maybe the rain will help me recapture the essence of myself from the future sky it’s flown off to, to wind it back down into myself, where it can bide its time for another nine months, until I can take my life off pause and give birth to this child of expectation I’ve been holding within myself for so long.

The Nature of Loneliness

There are some things about this country that still strike me every time I step outside the door. The people are closer here – not emotionally, but literally, physically closer. It’s not uncommon to see two young men on the same motorcycle; girls walk down the streets with their arms linked; people are comfortable sitting three or four to a bench, their shoulders and hips in contact. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who are friends and who are couples. Sometimes it’s not. Kissing in public isn’t nearly so frowned upon here.

Maybe I wouldn’t be noticing this so much if I wasn’t missing the physical contact I’m still so used to in my daily life. It’s been two months – one month in the apartment already – and I haven’t yet made any friends. I want to join a club, find some people to meet who share my interests, but I don’t know how to look for access to university clubs and dad hasn’t been able to help me yet – regardless, I’m not sure they’ve even started up yet. I miss my friends. I miss my girl. I miss having people around who I can touch who aren’t members of my family.

I have met some people, sort of. I spent a while listening to an old homeless man who I’ve always seen alone. It was hard to understand him through his thick accent and rapid speech, but I thought it was more important to listen than to understand every word he said. He was sweet, and very hopeful for the future, both mine and his – but he’s not the kind of person I want to spend a Saturday afternoon hanging out with. Same goes for the university-aged people I’ve bumped into a few times who were shocked and astonished to learn that I was completely drug-free and didn’t sleep around. I’d never been offered marijuana before, and I’d really rather keep it out of my face in the future.

It’s easier for my siblings – they go outside, play at the park, find other kids their age. The kids my age are all starting their first year of preparatory school, and are working hard to do well; even if they weren’t, the type of people I generally like hanging out with aren’t the types to go outside to make their friends. Hopefully I’ll be able to find something to do, some people I actually want to hang out with. I’ll look for a club. There’s also a goth and electronica night in a couple of weeks… I’m still debating on whether or not to go, because it starts really late, but it might be a good idea, at least to try out. I don’t know. We’ll see.

I seem to be saying that a lot lately. Please come visit me.

Lost in the City

Hello, Canada! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? For the last two weeks or so, we’ve been settling in, buying beds, getting used to the rhythms of daily life, exploring the city. We have our own internet service now, so I can get a stable connection in my bedroom. We have almost everything I’m used to having around me. More and more, I feel like Toulouse is my home. I can’t describe how much I love the place. I just wish everyone could be here to see it with me.

We’ve had a few guests over – friends of my dad’s, mostly. His old thesis supervisor, his wife, and their son are here on a half-year sabbatical, too, and they’re just around the corner, about a hundred metres from our house. We’ll be seeing a lot of them for the next five months, I’m sure.

Almost every day, someone goes out to buy bread. We eat bakery-fresh loaves with most of our dinners, and always have some left over for breakfast if we want it. There are about seven bakeries in the two or three blocks around our house. There are also loads of little groceries all over the place; sometimes mom sends me out with a few euros to pick up one or two ingredients for supper when she realizes we’re missing something. And there’s the big fruit and vegetable market, the Marché du Cristal, only a ten minute’s walk from here. The best part about that market is that the prices drop exponentially right around the time that everyone is packing up to go. Funny story…

Mom, dad, and Tristan went out a week or so ago to get some fruit. They were browsing as everything was closing, and a man was calling to them that they could buy one cardboard flat of twenty peaches for two euros. They debated, then he said they could get two for three euros. That, they decided, was too much, so they offered two euros for one flat – and were told, on no uncertain terms, that two euros would get them both flats, and to get them off his hands. They complied. We ate a lot of peaches for the next few days.

Peach smoothies are delicious, and I love peaches.

As well as that market, there’s also the Marché du Capitole, every Wednesday, where they sell clothes and used books and movies and jewellery and statues and sunglasses and shoes and makeup and anything else you could think of. I’ve bought some nail polish and eyeshadow, a few rings, and an awesome new watch. There’s also the Marché de Carmes, which is in the square a block or two from our house, and which is apparently something of a flea market. That one is on Sundays, and I haven’t checked it out yet.

The whole city seems constantly bustling with life. Even in the wee hours of the morning, I hear cars driving past on the main road just down the street, people walking, even the fountain in the square. Today two firetrucks stopped in front of my apartment and the firemen started bustling around on a building across the road; people leaned out of their windows to look, and gathered on the street a few dozen metres down. There are people everywhere, and everyone is going somewhere; everyone is laughing and talking and living. There are hundreds of restaurants just spilling onto the streets, and thousands of pedestrians anywhere.

Yesterday Tristan and I went for a walk. We ambled through one of the big gardens for a while, and were then shooed out by park staff, who said it was closing. We went wandering off towards the west, took a street that angled south, and got ourselves totally lost before finding our way back home. Those who know me well know there’s nothing I love more about going for walks than getting myself lost.

Maybe that’s why I love the city so much. Thousands of streets to explore, discover, and get lost on, surrounded by things that interest me. I am an outsider, learning about the city as only an outsider can. Lost, but not lonely.

Bonjour, Toulouse!

We’re into our apartment and finally getting settled, and really, at the moment, nothing could make me happier. I love it here. I love that my street is one lane only, but with massive sidewalks; I love that I can say hello to my neighbours across the way through our open third-story windows; I love that I can lean out my sill and look down on the street below; I love that at night I can hear the fountain in the square at the end of the street, and the people talking and laughing in the bar just a few doors over.

I love that we are slowly filling up the house with things that make it ours; I love how all the shops I like are within a ten minute walk. I love how everywhere you turn, you can buy ice cream. I love how there are hundreds of amazing restaurants, and all you have to do is pick a direction to start walking. I love how everyone gets around on the metro, and it really doesn’t make sense to try driving in downtown Toulouse; I love how Toulouse is a pedestrian’s dream city, and I am a perpetual pedestrian. I love how quiet the streets are on Sundays, when nothing is open; I love how, every few blocks, there are squares and parks and green spaces. I love how beautiful everything is here.

I love my apartment. I love how my room has an armchair and a Soviet propaganda poster from WWII and a bookshelf that is thoroughly unnecessary because I also have a shelf built into my wall. I love how all my clothes fit neatly into a wardrobe and everything is tucked out of the way. I love how open and bright it is. I love how I can leave my giant windows open at night; I love how, even in the city, there are a few sparrows around to chirp a welcome to the morning sun. Bonjour, Toulouse!

I love how there is an open wireless connection in the neighbourhood that we can borrow so that I can tell you how much I love all of this.