Presidential Madness!

For the record:
We are in the midst of the French Presidential elections.
Allow me to explain a little:
Here in the land of berets and baguettes there are two "tours" in the election. This may ring a bell as the infamous "Le Pen" incident in 2002 made world news (I'll come back to this). In the first tour everyone who qualifies to run for President in France (anyone who collects 5000 signatures from French Mayors) ends up on the ballot. This year there were 12, and in 2002 there were 16 candidates for example. On April 22nd 85% of the eligible French voting population (yes -- you read correctly 85%!!!) made it to the polls to lend their vote to the candidate of their choice. From the first tour the top two candidates are pitted against each other for the second tour. This year the two lucky "politicos" (every French slang-abbreviation, for the record, ends in "o") were Ségolène Royal of the Parti Socialiste (I take it you can handle the translation) and Nicolas Sarkozy of the Union pour un Mouvement Populaire (UMP) (again, self-evident translation). The French have been given a classic "republican" battle of the slightly left versus the slightly right. This Sunday French voters will choose which of the two finalists go on to become the next... American Idol! ... err President of the French Republic.

Ok, now that the basics are covered I can move on to the exciting tid-bits, fun observations, and neat anecdotes.

Le Pen: in 2002 this ultra-rightist candidate horrified most of France, and the rest of the word, when he made it to the second tour. With 16 candidates in the first tour, many of whom took home a rather large slice of the voting pie, that beautiful phenom of voter splitting opened up a royal path through which Le Pen and his National Front party marched right into the second tour. This pitted Le Pen against Chirac, a candidate of the moderate right Rassemblement pour la Republic party (later to become the UMP, that's right Sarko's party). Being French, and thus predisposed to public demonstrations, huge portions of the population hit the streets to make public their displeasure at the entrance of Le Pen into the second round. Although Chirac was far from popular, over 82% of voters supported him in the second round, many of whom felt forced into a decision they found very distasteful.

"L'effet 2002" and the "Vote Utile:" this is something we are familiar with in Canada -- choosing a party or candidate that is perhaps not our favourite but that has a chance in hell of forming a Government in order to insure that an even worse major party doesn't take the riding. This was, apparently, something the French never talked about before now. One voted for their favourite candidate in the first round. After Le Pen's success in 2002 one started to hear about the "Vote Utile" and "L'Effet 2002." The French started to vote strategically, or at least more so. They did not want their hands tied as in 2002. It suddenly became important to get a "less bad" candidate into the second tour, and voters started to think about who they should vote for to that end. The first tour results make it pretty clear that L'effet 2002 was no joke: the votes for smaller parties crashed this year with huge percentages propping up the major candidates.

The French care about politics. It is a BIG DEAL here. The day after the first round I couldn't leave my house without hearing about the election. In class, on the Metro, some workers on benches during lunch, coming out of cars, a mother explaining to her toddler who the two candidates were, two joggers in the park, clients and students at the hair salon, any and everyone on the street -- EVERYONE EVERYWHERE was talking about the election.

This past Wednesday Sarko and Ségo (remember those "o's" I warned you about) faced off in a televised debate that aired on a few of the major French channels. Many bars chose to air the debate on big screen rather than that night's soccer game (gasp!). Two night before the debate, the SET that had been constructed for the debate was shown to anxious audiences across the nation on the 8pm tv news, this only two days after newspapers published the first accounts of what the set was going to look like. The French actually cared what the set was going to look like. Weird.

I was delighted to discover that Nicolas Sarkozy is a brand new Myspace member! I later found out that Ségolène Royal also has a Myspace site, but apparently she has had it for a little longer than her arch rival. Welcome to the information age. But, hey, these two candidates are being viewed as representing a new young generation of French politicians: toddlers in their early 50's; one of them will become the first French President in the 5th Republic to have never been part of a Gaullist government and to have been born post-WWII.

José Bové: maybe I have mentioned this candidate in previous posts, but just in case I have not, it would be a shame to miss him. This "alter-globalisationist" candidate is most famous for having once dismantled a McDonald's ("Macdo's") with his bear hands. Wow. Do you think Stephen Harper could do that? Paul Martin? Jack Layton? Don't make me laugh.

La France Présidente: this is Ségolène Royal's very clever campaign slogan. What does it mean? Something like "France as President" or "France for President" and as such alludes to her campaign angle: that she has held many public meetings to find out what the French want, and that she will continue to listen to and consult French citizens if she is elected. She suggests: It will be France ie, the entire public who will be president. NOW here's where it gets neat. French is a gendered language in which one finds masculine and feminine words. "La France" is feminine, therefore "Presidente" is used in place of the masculine "President" without the final "e." Ségolène is the first woman to make it into the second tour and possibly become the French President... so there is the "between-the-lines" reading wherein "Presidente" refers to Royal. At any rate, the feminine "Presidente" is very striking to any french speaker and can't help but refer back to Royal as a woman. Clever, clever.

The Polls: are showing the two candidates are VERY close with Sarkozy at about 53% and Royal at about 47%. This is going to be a close one.

OK I THINK I AM DONE WITH THIS ELECTION CHATTER NOW!

A really great French snack:
Baguette and dark chocolate. Just take a piece of baguette, a couple squares of dark chocolate, and make yourself a little sandwich. You are doubting me. Just try it.

I recently hear Patti Smith's cover of Helpless by Crosby Stills Nash and Young. 1)This made me think that I haven't listened to any Neil Young in a while now and that this is a shame. 2)It reminded me what a stellar track Helpless is. 3) I remembered that at about exactly this time a year ago I went through a Neil Young/all his projects phase and started listening to Buffalo Springfield. 4) In particular I remember a night at Steph, Sean, and Jeff's house where we had a campfire. It was chilly out. Everyone came in and hung out in the living room. We started flipping through the old 12" records choosing tracks by whim. Stephanie pulled out a copy of her recently acquired Deja Vu for which she had paid next to nothing and was quite enthusiastic. We all spent a few minutes revelling in the sounds of Helpless. It was at this moment that I though for the first time "damn, this is a good song!!" Does anyone remember this event? Good times. 5) It must be this time of year that brings that old Canadian rocker close to my heart. 6) There is nothing like spring, friends, a campfire, and tunes. I hope you guys in Edmonton are really getting out and making it happen -- I wish I could join you.

May Day, May 1st
I had forgotten that there are countries in the world where the day of the worker is observed! A number of demonstrations were planned for the occasion, and while they would have certainly offered an interesting cultural experience I chose to spend the day in a more solemn observance: in honour of the domestic labour often performed by women and so regularly and woefully overlooked by Marxists and the traditional left, I cleaned my apartment. Really well. I actually scrubbed the kitchen floor.

After two years of trimming my bangs with the kitchen scissors I finally got my hair cut. It is short. It is good. It washes and dries so quickly and easily! It does not shed small hair creatures in the shower! I can wake up and it looks awesome! Can someone remind me why I let my hair grow so long?

I have just come from a crazy string of shows. Between April 16th and 24th I was lucky enough to see Joanna Newsome, A Silver Mt Zion, Thrones, Growing, Faun Fables, Wolf Eyes, Laura Veirs, and Marissa Nadler. I cannot say that a single show of the lot disappointed me. I also discovered that I live less than 5mn by bike from Les Instants Chavirés -- a super cool venue that I have visited a few times since coming to Paris, but never realised was so close to my new apartment. The weather here has hit 27 degrees Celsius -- a veritable summer -- and the nights are incredibly beautiful. Perfect for taking my bike out to the neighbourhood venue. I should also mention the coolness of the name "Instants Chavirés." It means literally "capsized moments" a great name in and of itself, but then one learns that in french an "instant chaviré" is a moment of being awe-struck and this image of being "capsized" by an experience makes the choice of name all that much more inspired.

In France the names George (without an 's' as in Georges) and Frederick and traditionally held to women, not men. This, at times, can become confusing for Anglo-Saxons.

I would love to tell you all about my travels, but this is getting a "bit" lengthy. It is something I hope to get around to, but knowing me, it is best not to promise.

Until the unscheduled next-time,
Erin

Some great links:

http://www.sarkozy.fr/home/ this one is really good. All I can say is that I hope they are still showing the "Si vous le voulez..." video. It is special.

http://www.desirsdavenir.org/ not nearly as much fun.

The plan:
The next two weeks are "les vacations scholaire" around here, so at the last minute I decided to take advantage of this free time to take a little voyage.
In about 4 hours I jump on a bus headed for Budapest where I will arrive tomorrow about 22 hours after departure. After 3 days in Budapest I will mosy on over to Bratislava to spend a day, next down the blue Danube by boat to Vienna to pass two or three days, and finally northwards to Prague for 2 or 3 days. I leave Prague the night if the 15th to arrive back in Paris around noon on the 16th -- just on time to catch Joanna Newsome in the city of lights. Wish me luck, it should be a party!
Erin

For those who are not "in the know:"
Way way back near the end of January I moved from my old apartment where I lived with Ryan and Juliette, who returned to the good ol' U S of A, to a new apartment. The apartment search was admittedly stressful. I had a ridiculous list of expectations for a new place, and I was quite sure I would never find suitable lodging at an affordable price. About a week and a half before I had to move out of my old apartment... I found it!
The scoop:
I am living with one "coloc," Hortense, a 22 year old French "pigiste" or freelance journalist. She seems to be quite successful at her work, writing or filming/interviewing for about 5 or 6 different clients at the moment. As she is working for a travel magazine, she was sent to Spain for 3 days 2 weeks ago, tomorrow she will be leaving for a 6 day excursion in China, and in late April the magazine is shipping her off to the Bahamas. Not bad. Being a journalist, she is totally insane, watching the news twice a day and reading 3 or 4 newspapers per day. Guess that's how you do it, kids. Anyhow, as anyone who has spent time here will testify, Hortense qualifies as super-cool. She is definitely a friend as well as a roommate, and I would be having a much more difficult/miserable time in France without her. As soon as I moved in we made an agreement to speak only French to each other except when I had visitors. This has improved my french immensely, and I have been lucky because Hortense is very patient, and, especially at the beginning, knew how to speak slowly and simply and to correct my mistakes. Not everyone in the world would be willing to do that. The first time we spoke English to each other was the evening when my brother arrived for a weeks visit, and it was a very strange experience for both of us.
Back to the apartment: It is just beyond the Paris "peripherique," the freeway that circles Paris and marks its outer limits. So. I am theoretically not in Paris right now. I am however right on a very useful metro line that brings me right to the heart of Paris in 10 minutes. I can also walk into Paris very easily, as I am truly just beyond the city boundaries. There are a large number of shops in walking distance, a grocery store on the corner, a bakery just across the street from it, vegetable stands, fromageries, an outdoors market 2 days a week -- all of the essentials. My apartment is on a quiet side street so I don't have to worry about the noise of traffic in the mornings. We are located on the ground floor, with windows onto the front street on one side, and windows onto a courtyard-garden on the other. The door of our apartment actually opens onto a patio in the courtyard. It is great because we get tons of light into the apartment and a precious patch of near-private green space. I suspect the patio will be wonderful on late-spring mornings. For now, it just rains, rains, rains. Or, as it did for 3 days in a row this past week, hails. I actually have my own room this time 'round -- no couch in the common area for me, thank-you. We have a tiny, but fully equipped kitchen complete with oven and microwave. There's a telephone with free calling to Canada, wireless internet, cable TV (news on every channel, morning, noon, or night! ...and I won't pretend that watching CSI, or, "Les Experts," dubbed into french isn't just a little fun.), and a washing machine. All the amenities of comfortable living.
I spent a couple of weeks at the beginning of February gainfully employed as a server in a pub/restaurant, but gave that up when I could not manage my schedule to spend time with my visitors from Canada. So I am back in a state of unemployment. In a country with a 20% youth unemployment rate and a language you only half-speak, giving up your only source of income is maybe an utterly stupid decision, but, hey, I did it. So now I am half-searching for work again. Something at least a a little close by, that works with my school schedule. Harder than it might sound.
Speaking of school, I was accepted into the city-subsidized french courses that I applied to. 4 days per week I spend my mornings in class "learning french." While the class probably is pretty useful and it often targets the very problems that I am having with my french, it is also unbearably boring. I am not sure that there is anything more tedious or frustrating and ultimately fruitless than writing in french. It is like pushing pins into my arms for hours on end. Only less useful. I know. I KNOW. I will never get any better at it, and it will never become any easier for me unless I keep practicing. But let us just say that the cost-benefit ratio is not working in my favour. I spend hours writing a 2 page hand-written "essay" in which I sound like a grade 4 student and have absolutely no voice. I have no doubts, in fact, that my grade 4 writing was more interesting than the bland crap I'm churning out now. By the way, french grammar IS much more difficult than English grammar. There are entire books -- I have seen them -- on how to accord your past participle. The french can't even figure this stuff out! By the way, they have an organization known as the Academie Française who are the great gate-keepers of the French language, and who every so often hand down ordinances concerning the language : when "thou shalt accord," when "thou shalt not accord," and the like. Apparently they recently conceded that the accent circumflex "^" is utterly useless, and that no one is obliged to use it. Just watch me go: arret, goute, foret, hopital. No one can stop me now. If the language police show up, I'll just refer them to the Academie Française. This is freedom, ladies and gentleman, in it's very definition.

Why the French continue to be funny:

Paris has a bit of a problem with dog droppings. As in, no one cleans up after their pooch. So the sidewalks are covered with "canine byproducts." To combat this problem the city of Paris has developed its own unique solution: they vacuum it up. Yep. Little golf-cart type vehicles navigate the Parisian sidewalks in search of dog-droppings. They aim their hoses, and shwoop! There it goes. Clean sidewalk. You thought that was funny? The name of these vehicles: "motocrotte," which might be best translated as "shitmobile."

It is important to guard the stereotypes of one's culture, and, to this end, the public transport system of Paris are doing their part. While riding the Metro I recently saw a notice informing passengers that bringing a dog on the train is strictly forbidden... unless, of course, the critter can fit into a passenger's handbag. So, while the English language and American culture continue their slow and constant attack against all that is French, we can be sure that France will see a long secure future of old women carrying yappy little beasts about in their purses. Thank goodness.

Speaking of the insidious attack of the English language contra les Français, the word "loser" (or is that "loseur"?)can regularly be heard battered about by french youth. These linguistically engaged youngsters, however, are careful to guard the gendered nature of their language, and miss not a beat in calling one of their less-highly-regarded female peers a "loseuse."

As of this past week the list of 12 candidates running for President of the French Republic was finalised. Amongst the twelve, Frédéric Nihous representing the CPNT, or Chase Pêche (accent circumflex optional) Nature et Traditions -- or -- Hunting Fishing Nature and Traditions party. Really? Really? Why didn't they add "Campfires and Pilsner" to the list? Or did they prefer to leave that to be implied?

A très bientôt (oh, I'm so un-liberated in the end -- there goes that accent circumflex, I just cling to my own subjugation)
Erin

Anyway, I've posted the pictures chronologically backwards so that the first one you see is actually the last one I took. I also failed to be terribly selective in my choice of posted photos. I went with the quantity over quality rule. What can I say? No self-restraint.
Perhaps I had best give you a brief overview, a little guided tour:
The top pictures are all taken in the High Atlas Mountains where I spent 5 days hiking in the Toubkal (highest peak in Africa) region near the town of Imlil. Meg, Cael, and I spent 4 days hiking from town to town with a guide, Mohammed, a muleteer, Abdul, and, of course, a mule. It was pretty incredible especially since I had been suffocating a bit in Paris and needed a dose of mountain-hiking. Mohammed and Abdul were great, and we spoke a lot of french with them, we cooked with them and ate with them and played cards with them and generally had a too-fun time. It was probably my favourite part of the trip. In the pictrures I have posted you can see us drinking tea on a mountain and there is also a photo of the unsavory quantity of sugar that was packed with us for our tea. We must have consumed that sickly-sweet mint tea at least 6 times per day. No jokes. It became the butt of many travel-giddy jokes.
Further down are photos taken in our first couple of days in Marrakech, one of Morocco's Imperial Cities, and the place we all flew in to. There are a couple pictures of cats in there, but they don't really give you the sense of how overrun that city was by the lovely vermin. They were absolutely everywhere in Morocco. They ruled that place. For stray beasts they were very friendly, and, in fact, I did not encounter one nasty feline in all my time there. We liked the "disease-cats." The pictures of Marrakech are taken in the Souks (or Markets) of the old city, on the main drag -- Ave. Mohammed V --, in the main square, or from the roof of our first hostel.

Mental Marathon

So. It's done. All five hours of it. The LSAT. Yup. Finished this afternoon/evening. Now all that's left to do is party -- or spend a quiet evening eating pizza and watching at least one movie at the Champo. Can you guess which way this night might go?
The Champo is showing a bunch of Marcel Carne films this week, and I'd like to catch a few of them. On top of that there is a wonderful little event that they host every few Saturdays -- The Champo Nights. These nights begin at midnight, and might thus be better described as mornings. Classificatory details aside, one chooses either theatre 1 or 2, each of which screens a selection of 3 films by the night's director. So, for example, tonight is Martin Scorsese night, with Taxi Driver, Mean Streets, and Casino playing in theatre 1, while Cape Fear, Raging Bull, and Bringing out the Dead play in theatre 2. After the audience is all Scorsese'd out they are led from the dark depths of the theatre, red eyed and hunched of form from the hours of sitting and staring, fed a breakfast -- something analogous to the decompression stage necessary for deep-sea divers -- and sent out into the blinding light of the unfamiliar "real world." Come to think of it -- that sounds like my LSAT experience. Except that they didn't feed us.
Ok, the report is in: the pizza was a bust. No good. I supposed it filled its basic role of providing me with sustenance, but in its secondary role of being a tasty treat it failed to even show up for dress rehearsal. Bummer.
I should be on my way now it I hope to catch Drole de Drame at 10:10.
To Scorsese or not to Scorsese?
I'll let you know the outcome of my night.

ok oK OK!

I've been negligent. It's true. I hope that I may be forgiven for ignoring you for so long. The longer I leave this thing, the greater the task of updating it seems. So, I'm going to make this as short and sweet as possible, and consider myself subsequently "back on the wagon."

Hey Erin, what's up?

Well let me tell you...

I've been applying for law school. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. I made this decision very suddenly just over a month ago and have spent much of my free time since then researching schools, applying to faculties who have a November 1st deadline, and studying for my December 2nd LSAT, not to mention wearing out my supply of favours from friends. Thanks again dudes.

More recently --

I went to a very cool book sale today at Point Ephemere http://www.pointephemere.org/ . Point Ephemere is a great bar, art space and live music venue built right into the bank of Canal St. Martin. It is conveniently located within walking distance of our apartment and is also on the bus line that runs by us. Anyway, there were a bunch of indie publishers hawking their wares at Point Ephemere today. I found a box-set that I really liked: about 60 individual photos aprox 10"x10" in size and a CD of corresponding field recordings. Unfortunately, only the display copy was left. The dude at the table kindy wrote out a website where I could order the box online. Besides this particular piece, there were many items: books, cds, posters, tshirts -- ranging from the most DIY punk aesthetic to some very classy-looking volumes. Material ran the gamut from poetry, to theoretical works, to photography and other forms of visual art. Good stuff indeed.

Earlier today I accomplished an extra-long run, extending my usual circuit from the distance to and from the Parc Butte Chaumant plus one lap around the Parc, to two tours of the parc on top of the required transit. I managed to do this at a healthy pace, but left myself with aching legs for walking about town in the chilly afternoon.

Speaking of the afternoon, November is photography month in Paris. "What is the connection?" you ask. Well, I spent this afternoon meandering around Paris is search of photo exhibits. To my disappointment most were closed due to France's version of Remembrance Day. I think I will spend a few mornings this coming week searching out exhibits. There are about 15 in my neighbourhood and many more scattered around Paris. Working in "zones," with the aid of my trusty photography month promotional guide, I should be able to hit up quite a few of these little gems.

Somewhat random thought:
My metro line (11, the brown line) is the hottest and stuffiest line in the city. There is a noticeable change in temperature between the the rest of Chatalet station and the #11 platform. Furthermore, there is one place, and only one in the entire metro system, where I regularly become dizzy. Every time I climb the stairs from the 11 platform into the rest of the Chatalet station I become very weak-kneed, light headed, and dizzy. I have even had to stop and lean against a wall to keep myself from falling. Given that I climb plenty of stairs with no problem in the course of an average day, I take this as a sign of insufficient oxygen in the station. Hmph.

Another somewhat random thought:
I've been planning to mention this for a while, but have finally been spurred to it by my above mention of the CD of field recordings. I wish I had a tape recorder with me. I am actually thinking of buying one. Paris is a very interesting sounding city. This was perhaps one of the most striking things I noticed upon arriving here. I used to think that people who carried tape recorders around with them were slightly crazy. I admired them in a strange way, but didn't quite understand the impulse to record random sounds. I loved their music but thought "I'm just not like that." Well, maybe I've just been listening to too much bizarre music, but I've been very taken with the sound textures of Paris, and I have discovered a desire to record these sounds. Who knew.

So, I kind of hate blogger right now. I just spent half an hour adding to this post, and it's all been erased. Neat. Nifty. Swell. Anyway, this post was created 2 days ago on Saturday 11th, but I was GOING to add to it before posting. I guess I'll just post it as is today. Harrumph.

Better Later Than Never?

Well, these were promised, or, at least hinted at, long ago. At long last, here they are -- pics of my roommates.
There are two pics of Juliette, taken, surprise surprise, in the kitchen. You can see an entire chicken sitting in a frying pan in one of the pictures -- she made us a delicious stuffed chicken that night. There are a couple of pictures of Bepe, who's not a roommate but the Italian friend of Juliette's and Ryan's who is living in Paris right now. The pictures of him were taken on the night I first met him, on the Metro heading to Park La Villette to watch a fireworks spectacle. One picture of Ryan, Juliette's boyfriend who lived with us through September and October, but who has now returned to Minnesota, is from a dinner we all had with Bepe. The other two pics of Ryan date back to Nuit Blanche. One is of him killing time drumming as we get ready to head out, and the other is of him on the steps of Montemartre after our Chatham ordeal.