Barpolitics

So my neighbour and I decided to grab a beer together, as in to go downstairs to the bar in our house. Oh yes, I have a bar in my house! Usually it makes it's presence known by the smell of deep-fried food all the way through the staircase. Plus you have to be really careful not to run over any waiters, since the way from the kitchen to the Pub crosses the hallway for some weird reason.

The place itself is kind of posh and pretty expensive so I decided to make conversation with random people in order to limit expenses. Being a foreigner really opens door here.

-Where are you from?

-Germany!

-Just so you know: I prefer Hitler to the Jews!

Wow! Didn't see that one coming! The only thing more pathetic than the statement itself was probably me, mumbling “He was Austrian” whilst walking away still a little shocked. Not even by his political views but by his timing. Who could even even think of that as a good way to start a conversation? Genocide is generally just not that great a of an icebreaker. It's something, better used in Bavarian pubs somewhere between beer number 8 and 15, preferably by older men leading of with “Listen son, I'm not a racist. I have nothing against foreigners. I mean terrible things happened, BUT...”

I guess what I'm trying to say is: There is a time and place....

The following pictures are all taken at “Père Lachaise”, the oldest cemetery of Paris  

And the great tower...

Manners and moustaches

I know that I haven’t written anything for a while, but it turns out that as an Erasmus student here you actually have to study. Who would have guessed?

The uni system here is quite different from Germany. It is an endless series of essays, presentations and midterm exams. Professors are keeping attendance records and they kick people out for misbehaviour (such as laughing in class. Actually saw the guy after class, smoking a joint in the yard and a lot of questions were answered right then.)

Just yesterday I handed in two essays. Brilliant topics like: “Evaluate Victor Hugo's manifesto on modern theatre” . Try writing five pages on that! I know loads about modern French theatre but I guess Hugo might just know a little better, so what am I supposed to say? After 5 hours of writing it took me another hour to go through dictionaries to find really long synonyms for short words. After which I had to adjust every setting from font size and line spacing to indention and font type (Turns out Arial is way bigger than Times New Roman), just to get to 5 pages.

So now I'm free for a week or two, which explains why I'm posting useless information on the internet. I have to say I prefer the German university system. University is supposed to be two months of hell every year studying for exams and the rest is just going to class whenever you actually make it out of bed.

As I am writing this I'm sitting in a laundromat counting down the minutes and hoping I choose the right program. The washing machines look really futuristic and I realized that my vocabulary when it comes cleaning related technical terminology is pretty much non existent. Still I’m hoping for the best...

I actually had my first experience of “L'arrogance parisienne” about 5 min ago in here. So far the Parisian have been surprisingly…… alright , but going back to the laundromat after enjoying some coffee in the sun (Yep, sun! First time in a week) an old lady asks me how to work the machine. As I explained earlier my vocabulary in this field is rather limited, and as such limits my ability to respond quite a lot. So she immediately starts to get annoyed. She turns to the machine whilst mumbling something about foreigners that I didn't really understand. Pretty sure it was not about the beauty of cultural diversity though. So now I'm just sitting here enjoying the scenery of her angrily staring and swearing at the washing machine, looking like she's about to beat it up just like a smelly illegal immigrant. She is actually watching me writing about her but given my terrible handwriting and her incapability to speak English I think I'm safe.

Apart from that, everything is going really well here. I’ve got to know my area a little. I know where to go and more importantly where not to go. Rocking an dazzling ⁱmoustache with funky sideburns has already got me big props from one the pimps running a brothel on my street, I might be imagining this but I think even the prostitutes are treating me with more respect. My goal is to greet them all by their (fake) first name by the end of this stay. So far they still call me “chéri” and I call them, well nothing since I don't know their names and “chéri” might send the wrong message.

Greetings from the soon to be pimp and his stack of freshly washed clothes

i

Shenanigans with the landlandy

 Ok so, believe it or not: I found a place. It’s a 12 m² (118,4 sq. ft. for those of you thinking that life with the metric system is just not complicated enough) studio-apartment. Basically it's more of a big toilet with lodging; but it is right next to Place Pigalle, which is right next to the Moulin Rouge, which is right next to a lot of hookers and sex-shops. But maybe even more importantly, it's at walking distance from my universities. So from now on it's going to be 15 minute walks instead of 1 hour train rides. I think that's what Aretha Franklin thought about when she wrote “Freedom”.

Finalizing the deal was a bit more of a hustle than I expected. My landlady, a very nice elderly lady, lives in a district of Paris that is actually called “Stalingrad”. As a German, getting on a train to Stalingrad doesn't really bring up all that many happy thoughts, but turns out it is one of the most beautiful areas of Paris. Times are changing...

Having arrived at her house, the first thing my landlady did was to open a bottle of wine which, with some help from her Brazilian boyfriend, was finished pretty quickly. So the second bottle was open before we even started talking about the down payment.

By the time we got to that I expected to sign something, but it turns out that with a written contract she'd have to pay taxes and that just seems like a waste of money. Since I've already seen the place, know where she lives and already had quite some wine I decided to trust her. Let's hope that doesn't turn out to be a mistake.

After the work was done she proposed a toast, which seemed fair, given the occasion. But after she listed all the liquors and liqueurs she had and I didn't know any of them, she somehow felt it to be her duty to introduce me to all of them within less than an hour, and she had quite the collection…

Having said our goodbyes it was time for me to head to a little get-together of some friends of a friend. I had never met them before and it turned out the whole thing was pretty posh and sophisticated. Believe me, somewhere between tipsy and just plain drunk is not the state you want to be in when some kids from Yale want to discuss German politics. I don't think I came across all that bright.

Greetings from the no longer homeless drunk.

Because drinking out of glasses is just too mainstream

Daddy is so proud

French cinema asking the questions that will face all of us one day or another

My University

Brothers in thought

The name of the statue: "Where is the rest?"

And of course the obligatory photo of the famous Eiffel Tower

Let the games begin

So here we go: First day of class at the Sorbonne! Well actually the very first class is not at the Sorbonne itself but at some outpost way up north. But “Nous sommes tous une grande famille.” - We all are one big family, as the guy doing the introductory class assured with a big grin that I'd place somewhere between an overly nice waiter, the Joker and just your regular pedophile. His mimics and gestures were “très français”, maybe a little too “français” to actually be “français”. Turns out his name is Ludwig – not all that “français” but quite “allemand.” Judging by his dark turtleneck and big glasses, he read a lot of Sartre, tried to become just like him, got sidetracked somewhere on the way, drifted towards Louis de Funes and just stuck with that.
But it looks like he's not the only one getting sidetracked. Back to the school:
The Philosophy department is in a very nice multicultural neighbourhood, a lot of fruit-shops and most importantly: There is a great Kebap place right across the street. I'm guessing the area would be even better if I spoke Arabic, but at least no one realizes my accent. They all have their own.
The building itself is something between futuristic and a construction site (perhaps that means it's very futuristic! - credits to Moustache Mike) It looks like it's going to be a really great place once they've finished it, long time after I'm gone. Timing really is everything.
On the bright side: Everything is labeled very clearly, so for the first time I found my room immediately, without looking like a complete retard.
The lecture itself was quite weird. Some guy was sitting upfront with a laptop and literally reading everything at such a slow speed that everybody can copy it. And everybody actually does! Why he didn't just print it out remains his secret, I suppose.
So that plus a little “Questions anybody?” at the end and that was basically the whole class. That last bit he actually managed to say without looking at his laptop. Ironically he was reading about Décartes telling you to doubt everything external authorities tell you and not just copy their opinions.

Reading this bit through, I just realized it's all very negative, which is really not fair to Paris, since I'm having a pretty great time here. Plus it's all about stuff that isn't even remotely interesting to anybody. In my defense: I'm writing this as I'm trying to stay awake on the train.
The next bit is gonna be interesting, inspired, positive and a fun read all together. I promise!

Greetings from the actually not all that sad, but really tired clown.