Yes, it's been a while & I am quite aware of that. I have been too preoccupied with settling into university and getting used to France to put any effort into blog-writing. It is all so different... Sunday shopping simply doesn't exist, with nothing to do except uni work (never again will I complain of how shops are only open for 6 hours on Sundays at home)... the price of meat is ridiculous, so much so that we are finding ourselves becoming more and more vegetarian by the day (unless we suddenly express the desire to indulge in horse)... and I am yet to get used to waking up at 7am to the full, explicit version of Jay Zed & Kanye's 'Paris'. I am off home for the Toussaint half term in just under a week, and needless to say my journey from the airport to home will be full of 'mercis' and 'pardons', now that I've finally got used to speaking French every day.
Thankfully, despite this lapse of writing, not much has actually happened in the past few weeks, except for the weather getting progressively worse. However, back in the days of sunlight, we all became fascinated by one of the very few tramps (les clochards, en français). I noticed he was having issues on the bench outside of our apartment, problems that escalated très rapidement. Sat there with his head in his hands, he must have realised he needed a bit of a nap so he moved his more-than-likely French equivalent of White Spirit onto the floor and rested his head. Unfortunately, his hand dropped to the floor and knocked his can over.
He was there for around 30 minutes, not moving at all, and weirdly not many people even glanced in his direction. We could not help but think that, if this were the case in Britain, middle aged grumps would have reported him by now, or youths would be throwing bits of rubbish to wake him (something that did cross our mind). Of course this was all amusing at the time, especially so when a street cleaner came and picked up his can without paying much attention to the tramp himself... that was until a very mature group of school girls took responsiblitly for the situation. As we were watching, these girls (who can't have been more than 15) called the ambulance and a small crowd (including the aforementioned street cleaner) gathered while they clearly tried to follow the steps being recited on the other end of the phone. A boy of around 25 turned up and took charge at this stage, someone we could only assume (and hope) was a med student, quite obviously timing the man's pulse. As this all transpired in front of our eyes, we could not help but feel guilty that we had quite literally sat at the window all this time, possibly watching this man fall into a drink induced coma. We heard sirens approaching, and the med student started flagging down the approaching ambulance.
And, as quickly as it had all started, that was it, and everyone went their separate ways as (too many) paramedics bundled the tramp into the back of the ambulance and left... Well that was it until myself and another flatmate walked to the local Monoprix a few hours later to find the very same tramp spewing in an estate agent's doorway. It actually felt quite reminiscent of student life at home...
A strange sight caught our eyes the other day. We almost thought a British stag do had hit this sleepy French town when we caught a glimpse of a man dressed as a female nurse (complete with low cut mini dress and stockings, the traditional nurse attire) alighting from the hotel opposite. Naturally curiosty overwhelmed us and, as we stared from our windows, into the picture walked a nun....carrying a guitar. She was not a real nun (something I feel may be obvious to you, despite not being an eyewitness), but appeared to be the nurse's fiancée, flanked by her hens. In the hotel, a group of half naked men shouted and cheered to their friend on the street below, throwing a rose to him. Next thing we know the nurse had presented the nun with the rose and he too had a guitar in his hand, ensuing a streetside singalong. It was all very sweet and romantic until the rather fat and greasy French men in the hotel noticed three 20 something girls staring over the road. I can almost guarantee they knew that it was definitely not into their room but onto the street below, but that did not stop them attempting to serenade us, and unsuccessfully inviting us for une boisson in their room. After a few shouts of 'non', it was time to close the window until another day.
I am an Erasmus student. I currently live in France avec mes amis (beware of random French words in future posts), & will do for another 10 months or so. We found an (unfurnished) apartment in June during a very stressful 3 day journey, and moved in at the start of September. We Our parents assembled a lot of flat-pack furniture and bought a lot of what I now understand to be 'white goods'. Soon after purchasing a TV we realised that peering out of our conveniently located high street apartment is far more interesting than watching trying to watch French dubbed episodes of Malcolm in the Middle. This realisation dawned upon us when we strolled into our living room to a perfect view of a couple on a VERY dirty weekend at the hotel opposite. We were captivated. They didn't breathe for a good few minutes whilst hands were flying about in all directions, in the process proving the theory that you can indeed be seen from outdoors at night if you leave all the lights on. They did not leave their room until Monday morning came, after having breakfast, lunch, dinner and much more on their very visible balcony. Theories were born: were they a married couple trying to escape their 2.4 kids lifestyle for a few nights, were they a student & teacher hiding from persecution, were they lovers sneaking away from their partners? Thus this blog arose, 'Life from a French Window'...yes, I thought it sounded much more appealing in French also.
