I woke up yesterday on a mattress on a strange floor surrounded by beer cans, liquor bottles, plates and various items of garbage with me in the bed. If you're wondering where I've been, it's called a bender, and it’s called summer vacation and I, Barrett Leeds, am for some reason back in the States muddling around the Midwest.
Since I disappeared two months ago a lot of crazy stuff has happened in the world. Farrah, Michael, Ed, Billy Mays, all dead. But wait, there's more! That piece of %@&$ US soccer (preferable term here is football) team actually won a game that mattered, Manny got busted for roids, Madoff is going away for 150 years, and a Florida judge decided that a reasonable sentence for a DUI manslaughter (and Stallworth was high!) is 30 days in jail and some house arrest time. This guy is getting less grief than Vick for killing dogs. But I digress.
As for myself, after this period of enlightened thinking can conclude one thing, I am still in quarter life crisis and haven't accomplished jack! Unless of course one considers tales of mayhem worthwhile. Read on, the blog is back, Barrett Leeds is alive!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
N'importe Quoi!
There is a little phrase in French that comes out of my mouth quite often, ‘n’importe quoi’, especially in the context of my evenings.
“Hier soir on a fait n’importe quoi!”
It’s a great phrase, but hard to translate. “Last night we…” well it usually entails some sort of debacle involving absurd amounts of drinking, some women, bars, night clubs, nudity, mysteriously waking up in Paris etc. You get the point. N’importe quoi!
We often do n’importe quoi here in Rouen, but last night trumps them all. It started off innocently around 6 o’clock. I was well rested and in good form (as the night before I didn’t go out because the night before that I also did n’importe quoi). At 6 o’clock I took apéro (aperitif) with my flat mate. This involved three beers. Afterwards we ate dinner at a crêperie (a restaurant that serves crêpes and gallettes – food typical from Brittany). We repeated apéro at the restaurant, and then ordered a bottle of wine. After the meal we ordered a calvados coffee. Calvados is lovely liquor from Normandy that puts hair on your chest so to speak. Then because my flat mate knew the owner we then had two glasses of Pastis, liquor from Marseille. It was midnight at the point, and n'importe quoi was well underway.
We moved on to the Vicompte, a bar with a rather trendy reputation, where we meet a few friends and had a few more beers. After mingling for a while a few of us moved on to a night club up the street, started off with a few whiskeys before deciding it would be a good idea to just buy the bottle. I have to admit it was at this point that the details get vague. Some friends disappeared here and there throughout the night. I ended up dancing with three Dutch girls and recall going to the train station with them around dawn and waking up in… well, not really sure.
As for my flat mate, I got a call from him at 4 o’clock the next day. “Hey man, I spent the night in jail!” Yes, he left mysteriously like the rest, got into an argument with a guy on the way home about a cell phone, and was subsequently picked up and jailed for public intox and mistakenly booked as someone else. He woke up the next morning quivering in his cell, spent an hour trying to figure out why he was there before clearing up the situation and getting on his way.
“On a fait n’importe quoi hier!”
“Hier soir on a fait n’importe quoi!”
It’s a great phrase, but hard to translate. “Last night we…” well it usually entails some sort of debacle involving absurd amounts of drinking, some women, bars, night clubs, nudity, mysteriously waking up in Paris etc. You get the point. N’importe quoi!
We often do n’importe quoi here in Rouen, but last night trumps them all. It started off innocently around 6 o’clock. I was well rested and in good form (as the night before I didn’t go out because the night before that I also did n’importe quoi). At 6 o’clock I took apéro (aperitif) with my flat mate. This involved three beers. Afterwards we ate dinner at a crêperie (a restaurant that serves crêpes and gallettes – food typical from Brittany). We repeated apéro at the restaurant, and then ordered a bottle of wine. After the meal we ordered a calvados coffee. Calvados is lovely liquor from Normandy that puts hair on your chest so to speak. Then because my flat mate knew the owner we then had two glasses of Pastis, liquor from Marseille. It was midnight at the point, and n'importe quoi was well underway.
We moved on to the Vicompte, a bar with a rather trendy reputation, where we meet a few friends and had a few more beers. After mingling for a while a few of us moved on to a night club up the street, started off with a few whiskeys before deciding it would be a good idea to just buy the bottle. I have to admit it was at this point that the details get vague. Some friends disappeared here and there throughout the night. I ended up dancing with three Dutch girls and recall going to the train station with them around dawn and waking up in… well, not really sure.
As for my flat mate, I got a call from him at 4 o’clock the next day. “Hey man, I spent the night in jail!” Yes, he left mysteriously like the rest, got into an argument with a guy on the way home about a cell phone, and was subsequently picked up and jailed for public intox and mistakenly booked as someone else. He woke up the next morning quivering in his cell, spent an hour trying to figure out why he was there before clearing up the situation and getting on his way.
“On a fait n’importe quoi hier!”
No Handouts Today!
A week back, a well dressed woman in her 20s came up to Manu and me and asked for a cigarette. At first she simply asked for a cigarette. This of course was nothing new; in this country you can’t two steps without somebody coming up to you demanding some sort of a handout in the form of a cigarette, or change, hell I was even asked once for the coat I was wearing. Then again, we are in socialist surroundings after all, strike, bitch, complain, I don't want to work, but I want it all! So I had become quite used to being bombarded for this and that on Rouen's streets, but what happened next was way beyond bizarre, even in this country.
Both Manu and I were on the last smoke of the pack, so we told the woman we were sorry but we would have to go buy more. Her response, “Well, I’ll wait here, will you buy me a pack too?” Yeah. So we had a laugh and told her no. Her response to that, “Well can I finish your cigarette?” Manu just laughed and handed it over. Good riddance, some people. Unfortunately for us, it was far from over.
We entered the sandwich shop where we were meeting Alli and Alice, grabbed some food and sat down to eat. Manu stepped off to the bathroom for a minute and wouldn’t you know, just afterwards who comes in and asked for a cigarette, you guessed it, the same woman.
“Listen, you just asked us for a smoke outside.”
“No, it wasn’t me.”
“Um ,actually it was.” At this point I was still trying to be semi-polite, until what came next…
“Well can I have your sandwich?”
“Seriously?”
“Or some coke?”
“No!”
“Just the coke.”
“No! Seriously you are ridiculous! Degage!”
When Manu came back and we told him what had just happened he couldn’t believe it and had a laugh. But he shouldn’t have laughed so hard, she wasn’t done and his turn was next. Yes, there is moer. When we ahd finished we went out and the girls waited for us as we went to the Tabac next store. When we came back out, there were the girls, and out of nowhere, once again, was the obnoxious woman who wasted no time going up to Manu.
“Excuse me, do you have a cigarette I can have?” In utter astonishment of this wench’s annoyance, he looked at me, I looked at him, turned to the woman and offered a ‘Mais, ta gueule!’ and went on our way. Some people in this country, f****** A!
Both Manu and I were on the last smoke of the pack, so we told the woman we were sorry but we would have to go buy more. Her response, “Well, I’ll wait here, will you buy me a pack too?” Yeah. So we had a laugh and told her no. Her response to that, “Well can I finish your cigarette?” Manu just laughed and handed it over. Good riddance, some people. Unfortunately for us, it was far from over.
We entered the sandwich shop where we were meeting Alli and Alice, grabbed some food and sat down to eat. Manu stepped off to the bathroom for a minute and wouldn’t you know, just afterwards who comes in and asked for a cigarette, you guessed it, the same woman.
“Listen, you just asked us for a smoke outside.”
“No, it wasn’t me.”
“Um ,actually it was.” At this point I was still trying to be semi-polite, until what came next…
“Well can I have your sandwich?”
“Seriously?”
“Or some coke?”
“No!”
“Just the coke.”
“No! Seriously you are ridiculous! Degage!”
When Manu came back and we told him what had just happened he couldn’t believe it and had a laugh. But he shouldn’t have laughed so hard, she wasn’t done and his turn was next. Yes, there is moer. When we ahd finished we went out and the girls waited for us as we went to the Tabac next store. When we came back out, there were the girls, and out of nowhere, once again, was the obnoxious woman who wasted no time going up to Manu.
“Excuse me, do you have a cigarette I can have?” In utter astonishment of this wench’s annoyance, he looked at me, I looked at him, turned to the woman and offered a ‘Mais, ta gueule!’ and went on our way. Some people in this country, f****** A!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Nice Ain't Always Easy
The school year for me is officially at an end and as I mentioned in my previous blog (yes the one with yours truly and one very lovely speedo) I was heading to Nice. It was good, it always is. Dare I say Nice was nice? Oh, shut up, Barrett!
Amanda and I spent a good four day run doing nothing but sitting around the beach under the sun. We woke up late in the mornings, lunched at cafés along the boardwalk, took apéro there the same, and dined in the old town where they have a market during the day. We spent most evening afterwards consuming alcohol on the beach.
All went quit well, minus the night when we got locked out of the hotel for a period of time in which we went back down to the beach to get some pierres (in English terms – rocks) to throw at our neighbors windows to get their attention to let us in.
But the real moral of the story is this. In the end Amanda had to leave, and it was sad to see her leave; she hopped on a train for Aix, while I was on my way to Norway. Her tenure in France ended and after Aix, she went back to Birmingham in the UK. It was another goodbye to another good friend. Nice is the life I live overseas, but nice ain't always easy.
Amanda and I spent a good four day run doing nothing but sitting around the beach under the sun. We woke up late in the mornings, lunched at cafés along the boardwalk, took apéro there the same, and dined in the old town where they have a market during the day. We spent most evening afterwards consuming alcohol on the beach.
All went quit well, minus the night when we got locked out of the hotel for a period of time in which we went back down to the beach to get some pierres (in English terms – rocks) to throw at our neighbors windows to get their attention to let us in.
But the real moral of the story is this. In the end Amanda had to leave, and it was sad to see her leave; she hopped on a train for Aix, while I was on my way to Norway. Her tenure in France ended and after Aix, she went back to Birmingham in the UK. It was another goodbye to another good friend. Nice is the life I live overseas, but nice ain't always easy.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
The Swimming Pool (the Speedo and the Tatas)
You in the states might not think this merits a blog, especially when I tell you that most pools here require speedos. (Apparently this requirement of speedos is there for reasons of sanitation, I guess they don’t want people wearing shorts or non swim apparel in the pool.) I know what you are thinking – if I went to the pool, and they require speedos, I wore a speedo. Oh yeah, you know it! I have no shame, I embrace my euro brothers in the sporting of the speedo. Here’s the evidence.
But believe it or not, it’s not the speedo that attracts me to the pool. My buddy Manu is great source of knowledge about a wide variety of all things French things such as skiing the Alps, how to properly cut various types of cheese, in which order to eat things during a meal, and where to go to see great tatas – hence the pool which he introduced me to.
Just back from the Alps, he called me up to see if I wanted to drop by the pool after work yesterday. And no sooner did we arrive, were greeted with a mountain of tatas (not the Alps genre). These chicks walk around without a care in the world, talk to whomever at the pool bar, in the pool, while tanning, or whatever. No complaints here. Frankly it’s like a giant underwear party, minus half the underwear (although I usually rock boxers, though I admit it’s very liberating to walk around in the speedo.) Friday I am heading down to Nice, should be another great show.
Quarter-life crisis lesson number # 37 – when in doubt, go to the pool.
But believe it or not, it’s not the speedo that attracts me to the pool. My buddy Manu is great source of knowledge about a wide variety of all things French things such as skiing the Alps, how to properly cut various types of cheese, in which order to eat things during a meal, and where to go to see great tatas – hence the pool which he introduced me to.
Just back from the Alps, he called me up to see if I wanted to drop by the pool after work yesterday. And no sooner did we arrive, were greeted with a mountain of tatas (not the Alps genre). These chicks walk around without a care in the world, talk to whomever at the pool bar, in the pool, while tanning, or whatever. No complaints here. Frankly it’s like a giant underwear party, minus half the underwear (although I usually rock boxers, though I admit it’s very liberating to walk around in the speedo.) Friday I am heading down to Nice, should be another great show.
Quarter-life crisis lesson number # 37 – when in doubt, go to the pool.
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Alps
Random weekends, got to love ‘em, as it was this last weekend when my French pals Manu and Clément asked me if I wanted to go to the Alps last minute. So last Thursday, the three of us along with two American gal pals Alice and Alli, jumped in the car that evening and headed for Clément’s chalet in Chamonix.
We rolled into town around 4am and after a goodnight puff, got in a few hours of sleep before hitting the slopes for the weekend. I admit, I was a bit rattled at first. I hadn’t skied or boarded in years since my days in Wisconsin. As we stepped off the lift at the summit of les Grandes Montagnes Station, I looked straight down the mountain at an altitude of 3,500 meters at the head of a black diamond slope, grade 55 degrees, and it occurred to me that I might kill myself. But I shook off the rust with a little help from my friends and I assure you the peeks, the glaciers, the rush and the fun we had were all worth it.
In the evening we laughed over cards and beer and great meals. We lived large and we lived without second thought, often spouting out the trip phrase, “Pas grave, on est en vacances!”
Another beer? – On est en vacances.
Another smoke? – pourquoi pas, on est en vacances.
Another run ? – Pourquoi pas, on est vacances.
No amount of money could trade for these friends and the times we shared. A quarter-life crisis isn’t always the worst thing; you have to love where you’re at. I have no regrets about quitting my life at home and moving abroad to France. For great friends, great times and great experiences, there is no price to great to pay. Sometimes you just have to roll with it, enjoy the moment, even if that quarter-live crisis is in the way.
Friday, April 3, 2009
10 Things I hate about France
1. A line. This country hasn’t quite gotten the concept.
2. You want Advil? You have to go to a pharmacy. That goes for ALL medication, and you better not need it passed 7 pm or on a Sunday, cause like everything else in this country, it will be closed.
3. Religion is dead.
4. Striking. Honestly, with all that vacation and the meager work week, how much can one possibly bitch and complain?
5. To all of you French people who routinely mock Americans for their consumption of McDo and Coca-cola, hate to break it to you, you consume that shit more than we do.
6. Paper work for the sake of paper work, viola la préfecture.
7. Learn to drive, all of you.
8. June 6, 1944, for those living in Normandy, this date should mean something to you; very few students I’ve encountered know the date.
9. The shrug.
10. Paris during tourist season, what a trap.
2. You want Advil? You have to go to a pharmacy. That goes for ALL medication, and you better not need it passed 7 pm or on a Sunday, cause like everything else in this country, it will be closed.
3. Religion is dead.
4. Striking. Honestly, with all that vacation and the meager work week, how much can one possibly bitch and complain?
5. To all of you French people who routinely mock Americans for their consumption of McDo and Coca-cola, hate to break it to you, you consume that shit more than we do.
6. Paper work for the sake of paper work, viola la préfecture.
7. Learn to drive, all of you.
8. June 6, 1944, for those living in Normandy, this date should mean something to you; very few students I’ve encountered know the date.
9. The shrug.
10. Paris during tourist season, what a trap.
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