My Not-So-Frigid Trip to Paris!

Last Wednesday, I made the decision to take advantage of Dijon's Saturday aller-retour TER to Paris that costs only 18 Euros.


*record scratches*


Non-French Speaker: "Aller-retour? TER? WTF do those things mean?"

Aller-retour : individually, each word means "go" and "return," respectively. So, the translation is essentially "roundtrip."

TER: acronym for Transports Express Régional trains.

However, the "express" part is quite misleading.

In order to fully understand what I'm talking about, I will compare the TER to a faster train. The big dog version of the TER is the TGV, Train à Grande Vitesse, which is similar to Japanese bullet trains. On a regular TGV ride, Paris is a mere hour and a half away from Dijon, and the cost for only an aller simple (one-way) ticket ranges from 44 Euros and up. The same prices could be for a TER, which, unlike its speedier, modern cousin, takes two hours and 58 minutes to get to Paris.


In short: an 18 Euro roundtrip train ride is dirt cheap, even if it takes three hours to arrive to the City of Lights. It leaves Saturdays in the morning at 5:46 and arrives in Paris at 8:44.


The slight problem? There are no buses before 5:46 a.m.

This honestly is not a drastic situation because the train station is easily a 50-minute walk from my apartment, but I would also have to consider that I would need to give myself the extra walking time to the place in 32 degree F/ 0 degree C weather plus worry about potentially being raped by some horny, half-crazed drunk dude who could be lurking behind the bushes. Yet for the bargain price of 18 Euros, I suppose that I shouldn't be complaining about minor things like my safety and personal well-being.


As it turned out, though, I didn't have to walk to la gare before the crack of dawn. I had paid my landlord a visit and, when I mentioned what I was going to attempt, they offered to drive me over there. Part of me wanted to say "YES! Hallelujah!" on the spot, but I instead replied that they shouldn't be inconvenienced and wake up earlier than needed on a Saturday morning because of me.

They still did, anyway. They even kindly invited me have a quick breakfast of buttered bread and café au lait in their kitchen.


Yet prior to that moment...I was up at 3 a.m. trying to fix my hair and make-up in the darkness of my room. The night before, around 11, the electricity went out in the apartment. I resorted to trying to put on my contact lenses by the glow of my cellphone. I also found my crappy flashlight.

Why is it crappy? Because in order to make it function, I have to shake it up and down in a frenetic and slightly jerking-off suggestive fashion while it makes a loud rattling sound. I imagine that if someone had overheard the dialogue I had with the flashlight at 3 in the morning, they would have heard something around these lines:

Oh, and to add insult to injury, it has the tendency of turning off if I don't tip it at a certain angle. This conveniently happens when I have to set it down so I could put on some damn eyeliner and mascara.

I put on my red turtleneck dress, white scarf, black gloves and my new brown leather, heavy-duty waterproof winter boots which make me feel like my name should be Nanook of the North.

Very recently in the news, there were stories about how Paris had come to a complete standstill due to all of the snow. Thus, I had been anticipating to see France's capital under a frozen sheet of white slush. I also wanted to give my Nanook of the North boots a test drive.

Imagine my odd mixture of relief and disappointment when I strolled around the 8th arrondissement and saw this:

The Louis Vuitton store is huge.



The lamposts are intricately decorated!

Mr. De Gaulle, I tip my hat off to you.

I imagined that this promising display would look splendid at night, so I made a note to try to come back to see it all lit up...

L'Arc de Triomphe. Les Champs-Élysées. Le village de Noël. Sans neige.


Not a single flake was to be seen. Not even a measly pile of snow stubbornly refusing to melt.


Well, no. I did see this expertly-crafted refrigerator around Place de la Concorde.

As well as this Grande Roue!

I ventured further and walked past the Madeleine church and checked out a couple of Joan of Arc monuments.

I just had to take a picture of this tree; I haven't seen leaves for weeks!

Creepy Statue is creepy...

Jeanne d'Arc: the Patron Saint of France

I even strolled by Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré! There's not much to it except stores which peddle things costing more than what I will probably earn in my lifetime.

Now, let's play the Window-Licking* Game!

I will show you the window displays of some stores and I want you to guess the brand!

*The French for window-shopping is faire du lèche-vitrines, which literally translates as "window-licking."

Ready?

First store:

Know what it is?

Kenzo!

Second store:

Able to get it?

It's Chanel!

How about this store?

(Bling-Bling Bunny FTW!)

Any thoughts?

It's...Hermès!

Yes. Really.

I always thought that Hermès was an ultra-fancy store that sold way-over-priced scarves, but I suppose they also offer macarons and Bling-Bling Bunnies. *shrugs*

Okay. Last one! How about this store?

No clue?


Well, I found out that it was actually a toy store called Au Nain Bleu (At the Blue Drawf). I was just about to keep walking until I passed the third window display:



The Napoleon costume sold me to at least step inside the place.



Gazing upon the rows of princess dresses and plush stuffed toys, I felt just like a little girl again and almost wished I could be young enough to tug frantically at my parents' pant legs and beg them to buy me something.


I wish this were so because I fell in love with an adorable cream-colored teddy bear sporting a royal blue ribbon and piercing crystal blue eyes. Its plush fuzziness invited me to give it a hug, which I did.


It was just so soft. It seemed to melt in my arms. I wanted to name it Buttercream and call it mine.

Ah, love is such a fickle thing, particularly when it will cost you 63 Euros of your hard-earned cash which could be spent on more practical items.

Still, I wasn't too upset about the heartbreak of letting Buttercream slip away from my fingers. I soon saw this pink raincoat in the Burberry window display and its hefty price set things into a better perspective.

It costs 950 Euros.

I'd have to save two months of salary, after I've paid my rent and forgone food, to even consider investing in such a worthlessly expensive item. On the plus side, if I spent two months not eating food, I would have legs as thin as the mannequin's...

Later on, I met up with a friend, one of the English assistants who is also in Dijon, for lunch near the frightening train station Gare du Nord. Rather than having a meal at a bistro, we opted for something with a little more Belgian flare: Quick Burger.

My tour continued. I took the Métro and headed off to the butte of Montmartre to be at my favorite spot in all of Paris, the Sacré Coeur Basilica!

But even there, I had my spirits dashed. Opting to do some exercise, I decided to take the stairs. At the top of the steps, I was greeted by a group of four Gypsy kids who blocked the path. Clutching clipboards and pens, they silently pointed to the papers with the pentips. I silently shook my head no and attempted to walk past them.

One girl grabbed my left arm and tried to get my attention. She pointed to my purse with her pen. My senses sounded a red alert. There were four of them and one of me. One was trying to distract me. I needed to get out of there.

Then, rather unlike myself, I pulled myself away brusquely and said quite forcefully in French "I already told you NO!" I quickened my step.

I felt like a horrible person afterwards. I almost never raise my voice to others, let alone a kid. Even one who might try to steal something from me when I was off my guard.

I had to continue. I climbed back down.

Nightfall was upon me and I still needed to do some necessary chocolate shopping at the Galeries Lafayette gourmet foods department. I took the Métro and headed off to Boulevard Haussmann.

O. M.G. I could barely navigate past the sea of shoppers to even see the window displays. In fact, I didn't see the window displays! There was such a crowd on that street that you would think the whole of Paris had obviously nothing better to do than go shopping for their Christmas gifts that day.

Oh, wait...that's probably what they were doing.

I decided to go inside to avoid the large crowd by melting into a slightly smaller large crowd. I kept glancing nervously at my watch. It was already 5:15.My train was at 7:16 p.m. and I still needed to see the Champs-Élysées at night!

But the shopping took much longer than I expected. I wanted to at least give myself an hour to travel back to the train station and it was nearing 6 o'clock! I finished my one-day tour of Paris by doing a quick, but mandatory, pilgrimage to La Tour Eiffel!

I arrived to my train with only 10 minutes to spare...

I'm still beating myself up for not having seen les Champs-Élysées at night. It is said to be absolutely spectacular with all of the Christmas lights blinking on the naked tree branches. I guess I shouldn't have done so much window-shopping during the day...


So, I'm debating. I want some advice: should I go back this Saturday to see the Champs-Élysées lit up and be dead-tired when I travel to Provence on Sunday...or should I stay in Dijon and get a proper night's rest before going off to the South of France for one week? What say you?

Barb the French Bean

Some Scotch Anyone?

Moving away from home to go to college, has been one of the weirdest experiences ever. It is not necessarily a bad thing, but with everything going on, lets just say I run into more misfortunes than Mr. Magoo. If you have ever heard of Mr. Magoo, then you should know he is a semi-blind dude that gets himself into everything (literally) and yet he is always alive at the end of the show. Of course I'm alive too, but not as lucky as Mr. Magoo.



If half those things happened to me (or anyone really), I would not be so lucky to survive the first accident.

Lately, everything has been going well except for the fact that I am struggling financially. I couldn't get any loans or financial aid for personal reasons, but my stay in this marvelous city I call college town, has left me struggling. Though I recently found a good job, it takes more of my money than I would like it to take, especially since my job is about 54 minutes away from me.

Other than that, everything has been going well except for a few mishaps down the road...

It was a beautiful Friday, sometime around November, I had just gone out with my guy friends in hopes of finding something suitable for them to wear. I was dreading going back to my apartment because my roommates were all going away and I thought that the other one who was staying might be paying her boyfriend a visit. After seeing various suits, leaving red lipstick on my friend's sweater, and getting checked out by the guy at the counter, shopping time ended, meaning I was going to be all alone (or so I thought).

I went back home, but heard no one around and so I decided to go to Barnes and Noble to do some reading. As I was making my way to Barnes and Noble, my mother called. I was having a good, nice conversation with her when all of a sudden she gave me this guilt of leaving her for college. Well lets just say that the conversation ended something like this:



Without the Freddy Kruger part. Though, I would have loved to be Freddy Kruger in this case since I do not like to argue. For once, I felt so completely alone, unsupported with my choices, and miserable. I needed to talk to someone, just so I could possibly hear that everything was going to be okay, but in my attempt to reach out to those that I am really close to, I got no answer. Funny, how situations like these show you who your real friends are, and how the person that I most needed to hear from said to me "We can talk, but not today".

Finally, after having a good cry, I ended up going home, and after being there for an hour, my roommate came out of her room.



Well I wasn't alone after all, and just talking to her made me feel much better. After 3-4 hours of talking, I decided to go sleep.

As I was going to sleep, I heard some movement in the room above mine. It sounded like someone was jumping on the bed, but the squeaking of the bed got louder.

"You have to be kidding, are they really...? Noooooo...."

*Bed still squeaking and moving*

"WTF, someone is getting laid up there! Great just what I needed to end my miserable day".

Unfortunately, I had to sleep to the sound of these horrid noises, but luckily the people making these noises did not bang hard enough to fall through the ceiling.

lucky me.

The next day was a bit better, but I was stuck at work for my entire Saturday. I do not mind working, especially since I am getting paid, but the only problem I have is the security guard who hits on me. My job is at a hospital, assisting the gift shop, which I basically do all the clerical and sales business around there. it is a very entertaining job, especially when watching other people go frantic over $5 jewelry.

The worst part of my job, however, is when the security guard, who hits on me, shows up trying to flirt with me. Let me just state without offending anyone, this man is a 60 year old guy...he should keep it in his pants.



Well after that my weekend wasn't as bad, but what made it so horrible was the fact that neither my supposed "best" friend or mother were calling me.

Of course after seven days things went back to normal, but not so much with my supposed "best" friend.

Men.

You can't live with them, but you can't live without them

(I sure can't, 75% of my friends are guys).

Where is the Scotch when you need it? I sure need a drink with all the madness in my life.

Hanny the coffee bean

(I do not own any of the videos)

Where Have I Been?

As some may have noticed, I have not been posting much due to the fact that I keep running into trouble, and school work takes up much of my time. Time has been going by fast and I feel like I've been lost in thought for quite sometime...

Therefore, I was inspired to create yet another inane drawing video.



I know it did not explain much, but eventually I will get around to explaining my whereabouts.

Hanny the coffee bean

Letters to People Who Clearly Need Letters

Dear Anorexic Girl:

Eat something.


Seriously. Please eat something.

I know that you must be sick and tired of people being suspicious around you and encouraging you to eat, and I know that you are not going to listen to them.

But please eat something.


You are suffering from an eating disorder that alters the way you view yourself. I've seen how gaunt your cheekbones are and the way dark circles rest underneath your hollowed eyes. Do you not see this yourself? How puckered and scary your face has become?

Do you not see how your ribs and hip bones jut out pointedly against your skin?

No. Of course not. You look in the mirror and see a fat girl.

Normally, I would have sympathy for you, but today, I must confess that I had absolutely none for you.

You may think that the only person who is affected by your maladie is yourself...but have you considered that maybe, just maybe, you will interrupt others' lives because of your health woes?

Well, today, that happened.

Today, as I rode on the first bus I must take to go to work, you became so fatigued and weak due to your lack of energy that you collapsed on the spot! In one second, your composure of thiness teetered upon your high heels and crashed with a "thud" on the bus's dirty floor.

A frantic flurry of hands rushed to your aid. They helped carry your light frame unto the nearest empty chair. A window was opened to let in fresh air for you to breathe. The bus driver had to stop and wait for you to recover.

This lasted all but four minutes, but those four precious minutes were just enough to make me miss my connection by two minutes.

I don't want to sound heartless. I don't want to sound petty. I should be more compassionate towards your case. After all, you had just fainted.

Nevertheless, I remained quite annoyed with you. Because of your brief fall, I had to stand waiting under the cold rain for an extra 21 minutes to catch the following bus to my job. Because of your descent, I barely arrived with enough time to spare to make photocopies for my lessons. I arrived five minutes late to greet my students. They had to revise for a test they had today in a different class. They needed those extra five minutes to practice their English with me.

You affected not only my students' and my schedule. I'm sure the others on the bus had their own times to be conscious.

So, please, eat something. It is unhealthy for you to keep living like this.



Dear Bulimic Girl:

I saw you and you know it.

Rather, I heard you. And you know that I did.

I was in the nice café having a nice coffee at the same time that you were having your nice lunch with your nice boyfriend.

We both had to use the bathroom around the same time. The café has only one toilet, so I had to wait for my turn and let you finish using it.


I waited outside that door for nearly five minutes. During that time, I heard muffled groans and retching emit from the other side. I wondered what was wrong with you.

Then you opened the door and I knew: your cheeks were flushed, you looked as if you had cried. Your large clothes were doing a good job hiding the lack of fat on your body. Your crevassed cheeks were a dead giveaway.

We made eye contact and you knew that I knew. But I won't tell your secret, for it is etched right on your face.

You went back to your nice table and joined your nice, smiling boyfriend.

You threw up the nice lunch that your nice boyfriend had nicely paid for you. Is this how you repay him? Has he not noticed this odd behavior of yours in the time that he has dated you? If this is what you do every time you two go out for lunch, then that is such a complete waste of his money and time.

I don't want to sound holier-than-thou, but if I had a nice boyfriend who offered to pay me a nice lunch in a nice café, I certainly wouldn't be blowing chunks afterwards (unless it had been contaminated and gave me food poisoning, which I doubt was the case because you ate at a nice café).

Please, Bulimic Girl, realize that what you are doing to yourself will have grave consequences on your well-being in the future. I'm sure that something in you may just be beginning to be damaged as well.

Your body is not a toy. You only have one body in this life.

Please take care of it. And of yourself.


Barb the French Bean

It's The Most Slippery Time of the Year...

It snowed in Dijon.


I'm from tropical, sunny Miami, FL.


Just let that sink in for a moment...

"OMG, they killed Barbara!"

Imagine this little Miami girl's excitement when she gazing upon a landscape carpeted by a pristine layer of plush, white snow in her neighborhood! She just had to brave it out and explore...

View from bedroom window early Saturday morning

For those of you who are pretty much barricaded by snow for nearly 6 months of the year, I must stress that Dijon rarely has snow. But when it snows...it snows.

Compare my current bedroom view to the Sunday a week ago, the one just after Thanksgiving...

Anyway, continuing with the winterwonderland adventure...

Yesterday was December 4th, a.k.a., St. Barbara Day. The French, holding on to their Catholic traditions, make a point of wishing you "Bonne Fête!" if it happens to be your saint's day. It's not really a big deal. This sign was seen just outside my florist's shop.

As I walk down a boulevard, I get to see the tower that is on a little hill. I sometimes climb on top so I could have better views of the Centre Ville.

The at the end of the boulevard, you come across a roundabout called Place du 30 Octobre. I've remarked that the French love to vent their vehicular frustrations by perilously careening at full speed and battling with the other drivers to see who escapes the circle first; it can be quite frightening if you are in the passenger's side...

After 15 minutes or so, I finally arrive to the Centre Ville's Christmas Village!

Or, to put it more accurately: the plaza in front of Palais des Ducs (Place de la Libération) essentially transforms into a bumpy skating rink where you must walk ever so gingerly, never lifting your eyes off the ground. This is, of course, to prevent the rather sudden drop of embarrassment that is slipping on ice. Walking around Dijon, I have become more cautious with every single step I take. One false move and I could soon find myself either brusquely kissing the snow or giving the sidewalk a high five with my behind.

Regardless of the winter dangers, distractions come in all forms at Dijon's Christmas Village! There are white ornately decorated Christmas trees.

Wooden gabled-roof kiosks with vendors welcoming people to do their Christmas shopping and vin chaud drinking (or cheese-buying).

There is even a ride for the kiddies!

(The caboose on "The Little Enchanted Train" was, ironically enough, from Miami Beach.)

I also learned the painfully hard way that my cute $30 boots from Target were utterly useless for frolicking in the snow. Water seeped in through the leather barrier and soaked my socks! I had blocks of ice for feet and by the time I got home, I had to defrost them and place my socks out to dry on my room's radiator. I also had to dig out my rather untrendy, but thankfully waterproof, black boots from last year.

I may be freezing in the glacial temperatures outside, but I'm still better off than these glass sculptures that were seen chilling out in Dijon's Christmas Village!

(Yes. This is indeed a snail ice sculpture. I would not expect anything less here in escargot-infested Bourgogne.)

At night, you can see Dijon's lights all over the Centre Ville!

I honestly can't believe it's December once again. 2010 has really flown past me...and soon I shall greet another year!

In the meantime, I need to focus on my Christmas shopping and vin chaud drinking!

Barb the French Bean

An Update on My Shakira-Hotness Goal

Long-time readers of our blog know that I have made it no secret that my goal is to be hotter than Shakira.

Being a Shakira fan myself, I have certainly been aware that the Colombian mega-star has a new single out, entitled "Loca."

I also took a moment to check out my competition watch the music video of said song.


And I was stunned.

(Due to some copyright crap from living in France, I cannot imbed the video into this post. It is only available as a link...)

Is it just me...or does Shakira look a little...scrawny? At least she appears to be slimmer from her She-Wolf days. She certainly is skinnier from ten years ago when she first appeared singing "Whenever, Wherever."

Nevertheless, I was stunned. What happened to her? I mean, I can see her ribcage poking under her skin! Perhaps she got word that I want to surpass her in hotness and set herself to raise the bar even higher???

I have to face it: I am never going to be as skinny as she is in the Loca clip, nor do I want to be. To me, she comes off as being just a tad sickly.

SO. Just to clarify, I want to be as hot as Shakira was in her She-Wolf music video--if not slightly hotter.

As for the update: My weight has stagnated. I've hit a dry spell. I'm tearing the hairs off my head. My body has hit an effing plateau.


My total weight loss is still the same as a month ago (20 kilos/44 pounds), but I won't disguise my frustration at seeing the same number on the scale week after week. I'm beginning to develop pure animosity every time I pay a visit to my bearer of bad news...



For the rest of this year, I will aim to lose 4 kilos/8.8 pounds, but I also have to take into account that I am currently in the most fattening time of the year! ACK!


I should not become obsessed with burning those kilos if not just living healthily. I'm in a rather decisive moment right now. I could easily give up and go back to my old ways or stick it out and continue with my new lifestyle.



I prefer the latter.




Barb the French Bean

Disclaimer: The link to the music video is not mine.