Showing posts with label festivals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label festivals. Show all posts

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Du Vin Chaud

One thing that Europeans do very well is Christmas Markets. Montpellier was no exception, however not on the level of those found in and around Berlin or some of the other locations I visited. This post is long overdue (as I speak, it's 20 degrees celsius/70 degrees fahrenheit, and the first of March), but that's what you get when you're off doing other things.

Our Christmas market was based in La  Place de la Comédie. Being the South of France, it still wasn't that cold here in Montpellier, so they simulated coldness by using white and blue coloured lighting (they needed to wait until early February for the two-week spell of Siberian temperatures!).


For several weeks, the thing to do around here was to meet up with friends, drink mulled wine (vin chaud) and wander around the market . . . snacking on all of the wonderful food options and running into other people in and about the temporary log cabins set up in the square.




Friday, February 10, 2012

Weird Moments in France

Having just passed the one-year mark for this journey, and finding myself in increasingly random situations, I decided to reflect on a few of the strangest moments in France. And here they go, in no particular order . . .
  • Sitting in a car with three 19-20 year old french boys, as we listen to LMFAO, and they literally create a rave in the car--with flashing lights and dancing (as much as humanly possible) and beatboxing, going from Lyon to Montpellier (300km). When they weren't raving, they were rapping their own lyrics on the fly, or creating a faux quiz show about a particular type of bread. I haven't laughed that much in a long time, but I still have no idea what was going on. Merci Rudy, Maxime et Clément pour la vraiment bizarre soirée--Vous, les gars, êtes ridicules... mais c'était extrêmement drôle.
  • Meeting Georg at the youth hostel in Montpellier, and having him organise my life within 2 hours of knowing him. Thanks for choosing my French city, university course, forcing me to own a phone (to the point where you gave one to me), and letting me stay with you for the first week here in Montpellier :) And not to mention indulging me in figuring out how to cook pizza (both frozen and from scratch) in a frying pan. Tu es le meilleur, Georg!

  • Going to a community hall with two french friends for a Karaoke night that ended up being predominantly for retired people, and singing oldies George Brassens songs in French with an accompanying guitar player. There may be video evidence of this one. Je te blâme, Olivier. Et merci à toi, Fanny, pour ne pas faire un demi-tour :) C'était une bonne soirée.
  • I've already written about this--but it remains one of the more random situations I've been in. Cycling into Cateau Cambrésis for the day and sitting at an outside table at a restaurant for lunch, I bonded with the people sitting at the table next to me as we ran around trying to collect my maps that were flying everywhere in the blustery winds. In the next ten minutes, in a combination of French and English we got to know each other, and by the end I had a piece of paper in hand with their address, and instructions of how to get to their home. They, having been married just the day before, invited me to stay with them and their family for the night. As they were leaving I had to run after them to find out what their first names were. Talk about hospitality. Merci à tous--Maité, Benjamin, Corinne, et Marcel-André! Il était le meilleur accueil  à la France!
  • Any and all of the language moments when afterwards I know I've told someone something ridiculous, or understood something ridiculous . . . 
    •   "Tu as besoin de souris" instead of "tu as besoin de sourire" . . . or "you need a mouse" instead of "you need to smile." Désolée David! Et c'est vrai, il possède une souris! Et un grand sourire.
    • "Au début, j'étais trop timide, maintenant, je suis ok avec mes gaufres en français" instead of "Au début, j'étais trop timide, maintenant, je suis ok avec mes gaffes en français" . . . or "At first I was too shy, now I'm ok with my waffles in French" instead of
      "At first I was too shy, now I'm ok with my blunders in French
      " (this one was particularly ironic). Celui-ci était à la ferme des abeilles dans Tréziers. Stephanie a eu un bon rire hors de cette phrase :) Merci à tous!
    • Thinking the hiking club was going flamenco dancing, when in fact they were going to eat a type of pizza called Flammekueche. Merci Frøydis pour l'invitation à joindre la groupe, et Pauline, merci pour l'explication.
    • "Tom, il pleut" . . . instead of "Tom, il pleure" . . . or "Tom, he's raining" instead of "Tom, he's crying" Tom est anglais, par conséquent, il comprend ce type de situation. N'est-ce pas, Tom?
    • Using google translate on emails I don't understand and coming back with phrases like: "it stands in the juice (sock!)" . . . and having to respond.  "On se tient au jus (de chaussette!)" . . . is a doubly hard phrase . . . se tenir au jus is essentially to keep someone in the loop . . . jus (juice) is doubling for electricity, or current--keep someone current . . . and the "de chaussette" addition at the end is a joke about a weak/bad coffee--yup, this is what I have to deal with. Merci beaucoup, Karine :)
    • Spending half an hour trying to pronounce feuille and fouille with several different groups of people. Désolée, Benoît de continuer à blesser tes oreilles avec mon accent. Et merci d'avoir essayé :) Merci également à l'ensemble des équipes de frisbee (l'Université et le Club sur plusieurs occasions), et particulièrement Karine, pour essayer de réparer mon "mignon" accent anglais.
  • The Fête des Lumières in Beaux Arts that didn't seem to have any lights (Fête des Lumières means Festival of the Lights). But, what it did have was a 15-20 person band that milled around in the crowd, playing anything from the Cranberries to old French songs, wearing the most bizarre getups I've seen--including a faux leather red jumpsuit, zebra sports jacket, and any number of jacked up christmas decoration lights (these being the only real lights we saw). I have no idea how they started each song, as at any given time there were several musicians drinking wine from the bottle, texting, smoking, dancing, or sitting, all looking in different directions--we even saw the saxophonist smoke while playing. I think the highlight was when one took a bag full of feathers and dumped them all over the crowd, for no clear reason. Merci encore Georg, pour danser avec moi dans la rue!



  • Performing Molière in French, using a postmodern polyphonic technique (as in no defined character roles) and abstract acting, all performed by people from different foreign countries . . . resulting in absolutely no-one in the audience understanding what was going on.  Merci Tianna, Vanessa, Amanda, Shuko, et Yasmin. J'ai effectivement eu un temps merveilleux dans cette classe. Surtout merci à Tianna qui m'a aidé à mémoriser mes lignes!

  • And who could forget my first job in France--sitting drawing with Sarah Connell on the seaside when a father and daughter came up and offered us a bottle of wine for me to draw their house. Or carrying my bicycle up (Sarah) and down (me) five flights of a circular staircase in a tiny apartment building on l'Ile de la Cité in Paris.  Tu me manques, Sarah! 
  • My brother (this isn't really in France, but was during my time here) trying to coerce me into singing a duet with him of the Potato/Potahto song at Deutche Opera House in Berlin for a concert for my parent's 40th wedding anniversary. All of the other performers were professional musicians. And to top it off, having him call excitedly to tell me that he was going to try track down Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (the famous German baritone) to attend, as he is one of my dad's favourite singers. Thank you Andrew for not making me do it! Maybe we can do this sometime in the future in a less entirely terrifying situation for me.
But all in all, the random, lovely, bizarre, terrifying situations have made this year what it is. I have three months left in France (at least on this visa--maybe they'll take me back someday) and I'm trying not to squander any of it.

Bisous à tous,
Mary

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Playtime, wwoofing style.

Many night times were spent at the farm cooking, singing, or sitting around talking.

One night Paul lead us all in cooking gnocchi, along with Nigel and Renée's daughter, Céline, and her two friends from university. I made a gigantic apple pie with Beth, which I managed to slightly burn while helping out with the Gnocchi . . . it was still fairly decent, though.


Nigel plays a mean guitar and accordion. Singalongs were always led by him and more than appreciated by everyone else.

Here's a quick and dirty (sans accents and probably sometimes wrongly inferred artists from youtube, as I only have the song names) list of Nigel's French/Spanish/Beatles heavy singalong songs.

Nigel’s Singalong List:
Armstrong (Claude Nougaro)
Rock Me Momma/Wagon Wheel (Bob Dylan)
Je m’voyais deja (Charles Aznavour)
Le p’tit bal perdu (C’etait bien) (Bourvil)
La Tendresse (Bourvil)
Salade de fruits (Bourvil)
Le Tourbillon (Jeanne Moreau)
Trois petites notes de musique (Henri Colpi, Georges Delerue)
L’Encre de tes yeux (Francis Cabrel)
La Marine (Brassens)
Quand je serai K.O. (Alain Souchon)
Bikini (Brian Hyland--but translated into French)
L’Amerique (Joe Dassin)
Emmenez-moi (Charles Aznavour)
Le Meteque (Georges Moustaki)
Le Galerien (Maurce Druon et Leo Paul)
L’etranger (Edith Piaf)
Donne du Rhum (Georges Moustaki)
Les Feuilles Mortes (Jacques Prevert)
Le Temps des Cerises (Jean-Baptiste Clément et Antoine Renard)
Il est trop tard (Georges Moustaki)
I'm Only Sleeping (Beatles)
I'm So Tired (Beatles)
I Want to Hold Your Hand (Beatles)
I Will (Beatles)
Love Me Do (Beatles)
La complainte du Phoque en Alaska (Michel Rivard)
Je me suis fait tout petit (George Brassens)
Belle Ile en Mer (Laurent Voulzy)
Les Couleurs du Temps (Guy Béart)
Couleur Café (Serge Gainsbourg)
Quand on se promene au bord de l’eau (Jean Gabin)
Siffler sur la Colline (Joe Dassin)
All You Need Is Love (Beatles)
Let It Be (Beatles)
Hey Jude (Beatles)
Norwegian Wood (Beatles)
Blackbird (Beatles)
All you need is love (Beatles)
Help (Beatles)
Education Sentimentale (Maxime le Forestier)
Il faut que je m’en aille (Graeme Allwright)
Ecoute dans le vent (Bob Dylan)
Sacree Bouteille(Graeme Allwright)
Tous les garcons et les filles (Francoise Hardy)
La Chanson de Prevert (Serge Gainsbourg)
La Javanaise (Serge Gainsbourg)
Complainte de la Butte (Rufus Wainwright)
La Java Bleue (Frehel)
Chanson pour ‘Auvergnat (Georges Brassens)
Mon amant de st jean (Edith Piaf)
Le temps du muguet (Francis Lemarque)
Les Champs-Elysees (Joe Dassin)
Les amoureux des bancs publiques (Georges Brassens)
Desaparecido (Manu Chao)
Clandestino (Manu Chao)
Hasta Siempre (Nathalie Cardone)
La Princesse et le Croque-notes (Georges Brassens)
Embrasse-les tous (Georges Brassens)
Mourir pour des idees (Georges Brassens)
Le Joueur de fluteau (Georges Brassens)

For four nights in a row it was the village fete in Lagardelle. At nights we could hear music coming from the village, and one night we decided to go along and join in. They had fireworks, accompanied by a melange of 80s rock ballads, and then this amazing band, which was actually pretty horrific, but such a train wreck it was so fun to watch. From Katie Perry to I don't know what, they danced their way through, singing as if they were the rockstars they imagined. We lasted quite some time just on the amazement on how terrible it was, before deciding it was time to make our way back in the dark to the farm. Particular dance moves will remain burned into my retinas for years to come.



Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Holi, those kids have good aim!

I spent Holi, the Indian festival of colour, in Varanasi. Varanasi is said to be the cultural/religious center of India. There have been people living in that location for 5000 years. Its streets and buildings seem to be built on top of each other, and the winding alleys are something to behold. Kudos to Veena for pointing me in this direction.



Getting to my hostel in Varanasi, I took an auto-rickshaw from the train station which led to a point where auto-rickshaws could no longer pass, then I got on a cycle rickshaw, until it, too, was too big for the narrow streets. Then I had a porter (just so that someone would show me where to go) carry my bag the last few streets to my hostel. And I thought there were narrow streets in Delhi.

The place where I was staying no longer had internet, because the monkeys had gotten in and chewed through the cords. In fact, the monkeys were regular fixtures as we were eating meals in the open-air rooftop restaurant.

I arrived the day before Holi, and took to the streets. I joined forces with a wee boy called Guru (or at least that's what I think he said) to get myself some ammo for Holi (powder and a water pistol). We got a little carried away, and had a preemptory Holi, with him acting as a sight, and me as the sharp shooter. Later we switched roles.



Guru also took me to a local kids' cricket game, where I batted an over, well aware that the honour of New Zealand, and women everywhere, was at stake. I was clearly the only female in the game, and perhaps the ony who had ever joined in. I don't think I completely embarrassed myself, but I definitely was bowled slowly to :) The teenagers hanging around that area reminded me of hoodlums from the 70s. Great fun.


I had been told very explicitly from our hostel owner not to go out that night, or the next morning, as the men get drunk and rowdy in the streets during Holi.  That night, I had dinner on the rooftop with two American girls who were travelling circuitously on their way home from teaching English in South Korea. We decided not to go out that night, but that the morning of Holi we would brave the craziness.

In the morning, I watched from the balcony (checking out the strategies of five urchins on the neighbouring building, pelting those below with water balloons). That is, until they caught me watching and started throwing them my way. If you do ever visit India during Holi, watch out for your camera, because not only does not it deter kids from getting you wet, they actually aim for it.







Carrie, Tara, and I loaded our water bottles and water pistols, and ran out of the building quickly and turned the corner. Luckily, we stumbled on another kid, Baday, who led us through the streets, avoiding the men, and leading us into the fray with local kids. Suffice to say, we were completely pulverized. Little girls with supersoakers filled with blue paint, no mercy in their eyes, laughed and sprayed us directly in the face. Boys from rooftops dumped entire buckets of orange paint onto our heads as we unknowingly walked beneath their traps. It was amazing. The giggles of delight as they sprayed us with rapid fire purple stripes as we ran for dear life, and the calls of "come back, come back" made me laugh out loud. I've never felt so dirty and disgusting in my life, but it was so much fun. I'm still getting pink out of my hair, and blue from beneath my finger nails. Luckily we avoided the silver paint that reports say can cause blindness.



The following morning the two girls and I went on a dawn boat ride on the Ganges. It was beautiful to see the sun come up, and amazing to see the architecture, and human happenings along that holy river. The area where we were staying was near a ghat in which people are cremated to be spread on the Ganges. Regularly processions of families carrying their deceased loved ones passed us in the narrow alleyways, and from the water, we could see the funeral pyres along the edge of the river.






Varanasi was amazing, but I guess that travel itch starts to take hold, because I have decided to move on already, to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.