Life's our oyster and we're gonna suck that bitch down with a champagne chaser.



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Thursday, August 24, 2006  
The Parisian Norman Chronicles: Part III - Country Crock
Sitting here watching an episode of Jeopardy, I realize how mundane and unfun my life has been since being back from Paris. Lord knows it certainly hasn't been uneventful, but it hasn't been, shall we say, as zesty as I'd grown accustomed to. I was then reminded of our first excursion on our first weekend in France. We'd barely gotten our feet wet in Paris, and we were being wisked off to Honfleur in Normandy. It was described to us as a, "picturesque fishing village in Normandy." I have to say, the closest thing I've seen to a fishing village before Honfleur is Marina Del Rey so I didn't know what to expect.


















After walking through the street market, where I missed an opportunity as I later found out to buy some mean Honfleurian Cider, to arrive to the heart of the village for our tour to begin. Now, I thought the tour guide was quite likeable, even cute in that "that old lady is cute" kind of way. Granted not all the other students seemed thrilled to be on a guided tour of anything, let alone a picturesque fishing village, but still.





















Now, it was kind of hard to concentrate on the tour when one of our professors (the frizzy blonde haired one in the center) was mocking the tour guide. Making snoring noises, sarcastic remarks such as, "Wow, now that's fascinating".... quips that I would normally appreciate had they been coming from someone under 50 and not a professor living right next to me (yeah I was in 508, she was in 506... not awkward at all). In any case, once the tour was over with, we asked the tour guide where she recommended for a lunch destination which served us a hearty meal, but lasted 2 hours.











By the time we got l'addition, there wasn't a whole lot of time left in Honfleur so we just explored the rest of the time. Along the way, while passing charming cobblestone streets, we observed the natives of Honfleur.

















If you'll look at the woman sticking her head out the window on the left side of the picture on the right, you'll observe a quaint happening of Honfleur. This housekeeper, you see, was having a conversation with a man in another window in the building across the street with the green window panes on the right side of the picture. They were chitchatting about the weather, how many tourists there are these days...you know, the usual. While they were having a lively French conversation, she was kicking a dog that was barking in the home she was tending to and screaming obsenities at it, then continuing on with her conversation. A translated version of what I heard would go something like this: "Yeah, you know they say it's supposed to get hotter next we... SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU GOD DAMN MUTT... you can't see a cloud in the sky because of the sun. It's really beautif.... I SWEAR TO GOD YOU PIECE OF SHIT I WILL THROW YOU OUT THIS WINDOW..." My favorite part was the quiet whine of the dog as the maid kicked it in the face.

My favorite thing about the trip, though, had to be this old man I observed by the carousel with his dying bulldog.





















While you can't see the pathetic, ancient creature that was this man's bulldog because it was dragging it's half-dead keaster to the light, you can still observe the quiet nobility of the man in the green jacket and the beret. Now, I'm trying to be crass and mocking of this poor fellow (maybe a little), I just have a great respect for the native Norman sitting by the carousel with his fleabag dog, watching his surroundings. I suppose I wish that when I'm that old, I could be satisfied with sitting in front of a carousel in a green blazer and beret... for a very long time.

As a sort of poetic justice, right when I finished pondering the existence of the green jacket man, it was time to leave Honfleur. And for good reason because the next day would be filled with more touristic embarassments and awkward photographs....

And that night, in stark contrast to our picturesque fishing village, we would experience the mayhem and despair of the World Cup Championship, as well as the prickiness of a Parisian waiter. C'est la vie.


Coming up in Part IV: World Cup Fever (finally), blasphemy at Notre Dame and the worst seats in the house at l'Opera
1:08 AM
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