Another update - it's almost better than free icecream

Monday, 14 May 2007

You may not have known it, but I was in London two weekends ago. I didn't tell you I was going. It's a cruel world and I'm a cruel girl, but you'll get over it.

Thought I was done escapading after Italy? Well so did I, but you see there was unfinished business in London (though calling it business is not fair, as it was quite fun), and like a ghost, I couldn't leave that business incomplete. You see... you see this year thanks to the information super-highway, it was discovered unto me (trying imaginary french gramatical structures in English) that I have a once long lost 3rd cousin who lives in
London. So, shortly after my Italian romp, I bought a ticket to chunnel on over and meet: Fayette, 27, WF, not single, likes travel and possibly long walks on the beach.

London was a bloody good time. After a lovely walk from Waterloo station including poking around the neighborhoods, I arrived at 5 post meridian at the Tinderbox cafe for my rendez-vous with Fayette. Seeing as we'd never met each other, we had to do something to make ourselves obvious unto the other, so I stood and did the Macarena for 15 minutes while singing "My Heart will go on" in the most off-key voice I could finagle and searched for a girl doing the same. There were 6.75 other girls doing the same thing, but thanks to the previously exchanged over email pictures, we found each other no prob and sat down to some warm drinks (no crumpets involved). After a lovely 'get-to-know-you-a-bit' type chat we walked to her apartment and fought off the blustering chill of the London air with more warm drinks (still no crumpets involved). Having good taste as she does, Fayette chose the well-known Brick Lane for dinner where we dined on Indian food alive as usual with its colourful spices. On the way home we stopped for a drink - this time of the alcoholic. (still no crumpets! Where are the crumpets?!?)

Waking up around 9h30, I discovered, much to my delight, that we'd be making pancakes. Our first batch mysteriously became baked in the oven (that was really just keeping them warm I swear!), but the second batch, smothered in sticky sweet syrup and complimented with a scrumptious fruit salad, hit the spot like Robinhood when it comes to archery. The late morning and afternoon we wandered around the mass that is Portbello market, laughing at bizarre vintage goods and buying comestible products for our dinner-to-be. We stopped by the Tate Modern briefly to philosophize some bizarre art. We took some obligatory tacky tourist photo at St. Paul's Cathedral and returned home late to make Thai curry.

The evening we went to one of London's burlesque parties. They're all the rage now over there - all the rage. These parties have themes - often decades I gather- and for this one, people decked out in full 50's garb. Attendees dance the night away to old musique and sip drinks and at some point in the night, watch the burlesque show. For one reason or another, the burlesque show never happened that night (I heard it was stolen by Carmen Sandiago. Where in the world is she anyhow?). Burlesque show or not, we had a smashing good time and met some interesting people. A barrister named David, who wears wigs to court like all good British barristers, told me I looked like a fairy and THEN proceeded to tell me that he was going to write a story and I'd be the heroine: It would take place during WWII. He's be an English parachutist and I a member of the French resistance. He's parachute over in his SILK (stress the fact its silk) parachute to deliver a message that I'd be waiting to receive. We'd run away into the woods and kiss for two seconds before Nazis surrounded us. They let me go, but he would die a valiant death and eventually I'd gone on to love another. ... Whether he was rocked off his rear on vodka or not, I was quite amused, though not amply enough seduced to act out the run into the woods and kiss scene (the poor fellow). We also met two lovely Brits, Steph and James. Everyone was quite friendly and good natured and twas a pleasure.

Up unfortunately early the next morning, I left after a wonderful trip, up 1 great new cousin, down a few hours of sleep. I find London, though gray as a 65-year-old's head, a wonderfully fun city, bustling with interesting cultural events and nice people. Arriving back in Paris, I went immediately to salsa class at la salle du gym. Since the trip, I've been fighting off a cold. I won the first two rounds, but since then my red boxing gloves are becoming worn and my cold took on the demeanor of Muhammad Ali.

Sunday evening I hit the streets to watch the results of the presidentals. We started in Bastille aka socialist city to watch the results come out. Their candidate lost and there was shouting ("La France est morte!" (France is dead!)) and crying and very distraught looking people all around. From sorrow to happiness, we hopped on le metro across the city to the UMP's (winning party's) set up. After Sarko finished his televised speech, white-clad singers and dancers took the stage to start up the party. Oh to bask in the glory of dancers clad in strange overly-trying-to-be-fashionable outfits dancing really tacky moves. The opening songs were slow paced loved ballads which I found to be unfitting and bizarre. I mean, we all know that politics=love, but really, lets not stress the point here. We left around 10, evidently just missing a Sarkosy appearance. Making up for it though, I did find Waldo. Maybe not as good as Sarko, but not bad. The next morning I woke, surprised to find that only 300-some cars were burned around the whole country in response to the election of this controversial figure.

The week was normal. I handed in a 20 page report on Klimt's 'The Kiss' - yes, in French, because that is language or love so people say.

Being the lucky girl I am, I had a visitor this past weekend. The previous week, Aiobheen (oh Gaelic, how dost one pronounce thee) a delightful girl I'd befriended in a hostel in Barcelona came to visit. This weekend came around the mountain just like Suzanna my best friend from freshman year at Brandeis who'd transferred to Wash St. Louis. It was been 2 years since we'd seen each other, but things picked up right off the bat (a Louiville Slugger) and 2 years melted away like good fondu cheese. It was so great to see her. We ate crepes - the glorious flat pancake of France, spent hours catching up on years, went salsa dancing with Thomas and co, spent an evening sipping Chardonnay at my friend Floriane's, saw the musee d'Orsay, ate falaffel, went skydiving, hiked up a volcano, met Mick Jagger, rode yaks through the Sahara dessert, and discovered a new planet called X76 which is next to Pluto (which is NO longer a planet). PHEW a weekend tiring but well spent.

Today is May 14th. That means in a wee bit over 3 weeks..... Ah. Je ne le dirai pas!


My book on outsourcing and globalization just sprouted legs and ran out of the room. I guess that means I have to go run after it so I can research my next paper.

A la prochain,
Hannah