Posts Tagged "Paris"

It Started Seven Years Ago…Finding my feet!

Posted by cafebebemama on Feb 3, 2012 in It Started Seven Years Ago | 0 comments

Carrying on from yesterday’s introduction to “It Started Seven Years Ago…”, I arrived in Paris on 1 February and began my journey toward the rest of my life. The following are exerpts from my journal/diary as I made my way across Paris, across Normandy and made myself familiar with the town that would be my home for 3 months, Caen.

I miraculously find Baggage Claim and lo and behold, both of my suitcases are there! Now to find the shuttle to the train station. After doing a half circle aroud the airport, I finally find it and get my large-ass luggage on it. Sweating just a bit now. Oh, approximately 8000 Asians are standing at Arrivals awaiting someone. I fight my way through the throng and bump, bump, bump my suitcases to the shuttle bus. My arms are pretty tired at this point and I am exhausted, sweaty and generally unkempt. My kingdom for a brush!

I had to transport 2 LARGE rolling suitcases full of clothes, etc, 1 carry-on bag full of BOOKS and 1 briefcase with my EXCEPTIONALLY HEAVY ancient laptop and power cords. My total luggage weight had to be well over 100lbs. I believe that I ended up losing about 5 lbs in body weight by the time I arrived at my dormitory in Caen. I had tingling in my hands from lack of circulation and a huge blister on one hand where my ring had been rubbing the palm of my hand. I had to have been quite a picture with my haul, trundling across Paris, on the underground, on the train, on the cobblestone streets! I nearly gave up several times but I refused to let the weight of my belongings stop me! I landed at CDG airport at 10:00am and arrived in my dorm room in Caen at 3:30pm. Here are the Haiku poems I wrote in my journal after this epic journey.

• I have a blister. It is on my palm and hurts. Pack light means TWO BAGS!
• I slept until one. I could not open my eyes. France makes you tired.
• Seven euro gone. Found some internet, oh yay! Money well spent, yes!
• Speaking French is hard. Oh how I long for English. So much easier!
• Bought a pretty plant. Hope it grows along with me. Kind of lonely now.

I was shocked to find out how primitive life in the dormitories was at the University of Caen. The dorm was co-ed which meant that boys and girls occupied the same floors even! There were two extremely shady characters who lived across the hall from me. I eventually named one of them Breadstick Jesus because he was as scrawny as a breadstick and looked a bit like Jesus. We eventually discovered that he and his roommate had dropped out of University ages before but where still “squatting” in their dorm room.

The toilets on our floor (all 3 of them) had NO TOILET SEATS! There was a toilet stool in each one but no SEAT. So, if you were a girl and needed to sit for any particular reason you either had to put toilet paper around the rim or squat. Not ideal really. The showers were rather disgusting and I did my best to never let any part of my body touch any part of the shower stall. It mostly worked. This was quite a change for me…age 34, used to creature comforts, having to share toilets and showers with characters like Breadstick Jesus! I wrote a few more Haiku poems after the next few days:

• My body won’t sleep. What time is it anyway? Switch to France time NOW!
• Complet thon is YUM! It is my sandwich for France. Let’s eat something else. (I ate a tuna baguette for several days!)
• My phone is ringing! It’s is my friend Steve from Spain. Let’s speak ENGLISH, YAY!

My three days in Caen, before returning to Paris to fly to England were muddled and lonely. I didn’t know anyone, was jet lagged and feeling wretched and was struggling to do even the simplest things. However, when I did manage to accomplish something I was so proud of myself. Back in 2005, in Caen, WiFi was virtually non-existent and one needed to get one’s internet from Internet Cafes. I spent about 10 hours in one place over three days time and probably 20€ in fees. I was desperate to make contact with anyone. I bought a funny little mobile phone and got to grips with it as I’d never really had a mobile prior to that.

Mark and I had made arrangements for him to collect me at Luton Airport on Friday 4 February (2005). We hadn’t actually seen pictures of each other except for the one Julie sent to him of me and his niece (which was HORRID actually…I didn’t know it would be my “introduction” photo). I had seen a few milliseconds of Mark on video from a family ski trip. Wearing a helmet, goggles and snood doesn’t quite give you a picture of the person you’re meant to be meeting! I assumed Mark had blonde hair as his sister had blonde hair…he didn’t though, I learned.

When we last spoke before I left the US, Mark knew my flight number and arrival time, that I would be pulling a BRIGHT PINK suitcase and vaguely what I looked like. I knew that someone tall and with (I thought) blonde hair would be waiting for me. I was staying for the weekend and returning to Paris on Sunday 6 February. There were no specific plans other than to meet and spend time together. I don’t think either of us knew what to expect.

So finally we board the plane. It is so wonderful to be back in the land of English speakers! The flight lasted about 50 minutes which blows my mind a bit! To be able to fly to another COUNTRY in only 50 minutes is a bit shocking. I got off the plane and went through Passport Control, collected my pretty BRIGHT PINK suitcase, took a deep breath and…went to the toilet! A quick wee, primpt and brush of the hair and I am ready. Holy shit! I walk out of the door and start looking around…this is like a movie! And then, there’s this guy coming toward me, looking at me sort of quizically and he says, “Karin?” as I am saying “Mark?” And it was him! I was so happy. I hugged him and he hugged back. He’s TALL and has short, dark hair. And he has good teeth!

Tomorrow, the rest of the weekend…and no, it’s not what you’re thinking! Get your mind out of the gutter! I’m a good girl from Wisconsin!

Notice Anything Different?

Posted by cafebebemama on Nov 17, 2010 in Blogger Love, Gallery, Motherhood | 19 comments

This is me! Little Old Me! In the year 2000 when I turned 30. My Dad took me to Paris for my 30th Birthday. It was a brilliant trip and everything I dreamt Paris would be.

This is me! Little Old Me! In the year 2010 when I turned 40. We were in the Cotswolds in England. It was a brilliant trip and everything I dreamt that the Cotswolds would be. Notice anything different? Ten years later…something just may have been missing from that picture in 2000. Sure, a glorious Eiffel Tower and unfortunate blonde hair is there. But something was missing. It took me across an ocean and 35 years to find it. Ten years later I notice something different…my life is pretty nearly perfect and complete. Wonder what 2020 will look like?

These pictures are brought to you courtesy of inspiration from Tara Cain’s Sticky Fingers Gallery. This week’s theme: Before & After.

Guest Expat Blogger- Vegemitevix

Posted by cafebebemama on Mar 5, 2010 in Blogger Love, Guest Bloggers | 20 comments

New Zealand Flag

US Flag

The delightful world of blogging has allowed me to get to meet so many brilliant people and Vegemitevix is one of them.  We’re kindred spirits, in fact.  Vegemitevix is a Kiwi (from New Zealand) who came to England much the same as I did.  For the love of an Englishman.  She and her Englishman have a similar love of Paris as well as I found out on her lovely post A Girl Guide in Paris.  You can read more about her life and adventures at http://vegemitevix.com.  I think you’ll love her writing and tales as much as I do.  Vegemitevix has this to say about herself:

Vegemitevix moved from the seaside city of Auckland in New Zealand to a small rural town in Hampshire in August 2008, to follow the love of a Englishman she met on holiday in Paris in 2007. She took along for the ride, her kids (two teens and a tweenie) the family pets, twenty boxes of earthly possessions and guts! Swapping pavlova for pork pies, beautiful beaches for Blighty and sun, sea and surf for snow and sleet, Vegemitevix blogs stories from the expat frontline.

I now bring you Vegemitevix’ guest post for my Friday offering.  It’s all about being an expat…something I know just a bit about.  If you’d like to read my post on Vegemitevix’ blog…head on over there after you read this one.  My post is entitled “Pork Pies and Other Faux Pas”…it’s a corker!

Things I’ve learnt from being an Expat

This is my third experience of living the expat life. I spent my early life living in a gold-mining town of Vatakoula in Fiji, I spent my kids’ early lives in Brisbane, Australia and now I’m here – in Hampshire, UK.

New Zealand’s national bird and icon is the flightless kiwi – a discreet brown little bird who forages for food on the forest floor! Yet Kiwis have a reputation for lots of travel. Who says Kiwi’s can’t fly? Huh!

I’ve learnt so much from being an expat. Some silly things, some trivial, some deep…and…meaningful, some things about the world, the universal way of things and some sometimes alarmingly revealing things, about myself.

Here’s a few of them.

You wouldn’t go into someone’s home and tell them they had a small house, you didn’t like the food and laugh at their accent, would you? It’s never a good idea to complain about your host country and compare it with home. It’s hard to not do this. At first everything is so new and different and interesting, but after a while the exotic light dims and the comparisons begin. My son (aged 14 when he first arrived in England) would often come out with terribly embarrassing comments such as

‘I got really lost on the way back cos all the houses look the same’.

And in answer to questions about whether he’d found a girlfriend at school.

‘No, all the girls are really fat in England. (He wasn’t trying to be rude, it’s not quite such an outdoorsy lifestyle here and he just lacks social graces sometimes..)

Ahem. Moving on…

Your home country’s national dish may be pickled turnips on a bed of fattened frog’s livers, but nothing in your new country will ever hold a candle to it. I will never understand what is so appealing about Cornish pasties. To me they are a heart-attack wrapped up in a stroke! Who would enjoy stewed mince meat and bland potatoes and veg swimming in coloured cardboard gravy, wrapped up in soggy pastry?

My Englishman!

He comes over all nostalgic and moist-eyed when he sees one. I don’t get it! But then he doesn’t get my favourite food, oysters. I particularly love Bluff oysters from the deep south of New Zealand! He doesn’t understand the attraction of what looks to him like the contents of a sailor’s spittoon and tastes like fermented cough mixture!

I’ve discovered that being an expat will do crazy things to your memory. You will all of a sudden magically memorise every single word of your national anthem, (even the Maori words that you used to mumble!) and you will be prone to bursting into song at any minor sporting triumph. You’ll remember the words and actions to the Haka despite the fact that it’s a Maori man’s ceremonial war dance. And you’re a woman! You’ll watch every All Blacks’ game you can (NZ’s national rugby team), despite the fact you loathed rugby and despaired of your rugby idolising nation!

Memories tinged with homesickness become more vivid when you’re an expat.

You’ll remember a hotter sun, a longer summer, a keener surf, and an easier lifestyle, at home. No doubt the grass is greener there too, despite the fact it doesn’t rain as much as here in England.

Nowhere has as much rain as England!

I’ve been here over 18 months now and I’ve been amazed at how few Kiwis live in my neck of the words. I haven’t met one fellow Kiwi – with familiar squashed dipthongs and flattened vowels – in this little town. This sad search for fellow countrymen and women lead me to throwing myself at a man at the Basingstoke Ocktoberfest who was wearing a t-shirt with a Kiwi advertising slogan on it – ‘Yeah right’. (It’s advertising for a beer called Tui) Keen on making friends I bounded up to him like a friendly Labrador, patted him on the back and said about the rapidly diminishing beer supplies at the festival

‘Beer at a beerfest, yeah right’

He gave me that look that silently asked ‘How long until your meds?’

I tried to explain but failed in light of the fact he was English and the t-shirt was a gift. I hurriedly lost myself in the crowd.

It’s possibly a blessing in disguise that there aren’t many Kiwis living nearby, as there’s no way I can loose myself in a clicque of countrymen. I’ve had to assimilate, though I’ve learnt to be careful to remain true to myself and my identity. I have to encourage the kids to not pick up the local accent. I was horrified when my ten year old daughter came home talking…

‘like is, dropping the ‘t’s in words like, y’know like wah-a not water’. I got her to drop it immediately. The fake accent. Not the t’s.

Being an expat makes you an immediate expert about everything that comes from your home country. At times you become something of a walking talking tour guide. Lord of the Rings? I know all the scene locations. America’s Cup – I was there wearing lucky red socks! How to shear a sheep….um….I’m a city girl!

Everyone you meet knows someone who lives in New Zealand, and they want to know if you know that someone too.

‘Where are you from’ asks the key cutting engraver.

‘Auckland, New Zealand’s major city’

‘OOOOOh I know Fred and Martha Anderson they live in Auckland. Do you know them?’

Patient look. Faint pleasant smile.

‘No sorry I don’t think I’ve come across them.’

There’s just under 2 million people in Auckland. I’m a friendly girl, but not that friendly! I don’t know everyone!

I’ve learnt so much from being an expat.

The most important lesson of all I think, is how deeply unsettling homesickness can be. It creeps up on you not on the dull dark days, but when everything is working out well. When the sun’s shining and the new family dynamics are working out. There’s no explanation, and often no warning when homesickness will strike. Learning how to work through it has been one of the major lessons of my life. After all it’s simply learning how to deal with change. Our whole lives we are travelling from place to place (emotionally if not physically) from age to age, from circumstance to new circumstance. Learning how to cope with change has meant that I am painting myself with resilience. I’m adapting and growing.

I’m forever learning and that is a very precious lesson indeed.

Valentines Carnival Vlog

Posted by cafebebemama on Feb 10, 2010 in Blogger Love, Vlog Posts | 13 comments

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly Valentines Carnival

As Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, I thought I would share another snippet of MY STORY.  As I shared in my post last week, my hubby and I met for the first time on 4 February 2005.  We had a magnificent weekend in Paris February 19-22, 2005 and it is this story that I share with you in another vlog installment.  I share this also with the fantastic site The Good, The Bad & The Ugly which is run by the creative genius known as Claire (@lolas_mum on Twitter).  She’s running a Valentine’s Carnival at her site where people are invited to share a romantic story in one of three categories:  The Good, The Bad or The Ugly.  I could share something for each but let’s focus on THE GOOD!

Happy Valentines Day everyone.  Now go over to The Good, The Bad & The Ugly to read more great posts!

The Nightmare that was Christmas

Posted by cafebebemama on Nov 4, 2009 in Motherhood, Writing Workshop | 15 comments

In another Wednesday Writing Workshop challenge from Josie at Sleep is for the Weak, I have chosen to tackle writing prompt #2:  Tell us about the worst Christmas presents you were ever bought and what you’d prefer this year (inspired by Claire at Being a Mummy).  I’ve chosen poetic license to slightly alter the prompt to be “the worst CHRISTMAS” I ever experienced but will be happy to add some of my Christmas wishes at the end.  Get your credit cards ready!

Way back in 1998 (oh.my.God.eleven.years.ago!) I had just moved from Decatur, Illinois (don’t bother Googling it…it’s not worth it) to sunny California.  I had taken up a job with a Gymnastics Centre and was living in Lancaster, California whilst working in Canyon Country and Burbank, California (Google those…they’re brilliant…Burbank is practially Hollywood!).  I had left behind my boyfriend at the time but we were going to give the long-distance thing a go as I thought I was in love.  Silly woman.  Somehow I managed to convince said Rubbish Boyfriend that he should “Go West” to spend Christmas with me.  He refused to come to California (warning sign? nahhhh) but agreed to meet in Las Vegas as that’s where his estranged father lived.  We would stay with “Bud” in his MOBILE HOME in a TRAILER PARK in Las Vegas.  **shudder**

I lived in southern California which required me to drive approximately 4 hours east to get to Las Vegas.  The drive to Las Vegas is probably the bleakest drive one could make…desert, desert and more desert.  You’re advised to carry water with you as you never know when your car is going to die and you won’t see another soul for hours on end.  Is that the warning I should have listened to?  The desert did not eat me up and spit me out, however.  I arrived in Las Vegas and drove straight to the airport to meet Rubbish Boyfriend.  I waited and waited and waited and when his plane arrived and EVERYONE departed from the plane (this was pre-9/11…you could still go to the plane to meet your family/significant other/Rubbish Boyfriend) I became a bit concerned.  Then a big-haired, platinum blonde woman approached me.  She was Rubbish Boyfriend’s alcoholic & drug rehabbed sister.  Said Rubbish Boyfriend had missed his plane.  She had been sent to keep me company while we waited for the next plane to arrive several hours later.  Thus began the nightmare.

We stayed in the MOBILE HOME with “Bud” and Whatever-Her-Name-Was and had the most miserable time.  Well, I say WE but really it was just ME who had the most miserable time.  I didn’t know these people, save said Rubbish Boyfriend and I felt like I was living something out of a horrible movie.  What capped it all off was the Christmas dinner that we had.  I was not, at the time, a big fan of steaks.  I had never eaten one that had been cooked properly.  They were always cooked to within an inch of their life which required one to use a very sharp steak knife and chew and chew and chew and chew…ick.  So, what was for Christmas dinner??  Not a steak surely?  Who has steak for Christmas dinner?  I’ll tell you who has steak for dinner…”Bud”, Whatever-Her-Name-Was and Rubbish Boyfriend have steak for dinner.  And not just any steak…a GIANT New York Strip steak…cooked to within an inch of its life.  Ugh…I had to cut and cut and chew and chew and never say a thing.  It was horrible.

I weathered the Christmas of 1998 in Las Vegas with “Bud”, Whatever-Her-Name-Was and Rubbish Boyfriend and managed to put Rubbish Boyfriend back on a plane to the Midwest of the US.  Could I see the forest for the trees??  No.  It took me another year and a half before I finally realised that settling for Rubbish Boyfriend was not the best choice I could have made.  My family is most grateful that I finally saw my way free.  Wonder how “Bud”, Whatever-Her-Name-Was and Rubbish Boyfriend are now?  **shudder**

Having survived the Nightmare that was Christmas of 1998, I feel I am deserving of some karma in the form of lovely Christmas presents.  Here is my list which, I am most certain, will remain just that…a list:

• A new laptop to efficiently do my website, blogging and writing during naps and stolen moments.
• A Flip digital recorder camera thingy…how cool is that Flip??  How easy is it to become a film maker??
• Some money to get several items for my clothing wardrobe that actually fit and flatter my unfortunate shape.
• A gym membership and family childcare option so I can get take my shape from unfortunate to fortunate.
• A FREE RAIL TRAVEL FOR A YEAR card so Little Miss and I can go to London more often without cost.
• A “TimeOut London with Kids” or “London for Children- TimeOut” guide so we can find more to do in London after we travel down to London on our FREE RAIL TRAVEL FOR A YEAR card.
• A new, blingy, multi-media, app-loaded, easy-to-use mobile phone…an iPhone works for me.  Also, a fully paid contract to go with it with unlimited everything.

I don’t ask for much do I??  I would also like to have a week or weekend away in Paris with my hubby and daughter so I can start to share my favouritest city in the world with my daughter.  My husband has already started to learn about it with me and now I’d like to bring Little Miss into the fold.  So, if we could have return travel from Peterborough to St. Pancras, Eurostar to Paris and a stay in our favourite hotel, the Hotel Elysees-Union on Rue Hamelin, we would greatly appreciate it.  Thanks so much. What’s on your Christmas list?