Weekend in Oslo
Janet arrived home from Maastricht with just enough time to swap a few items out of her suitcase before we were hopping off to the airport again. This time for a weekend in one of the lesser-frequented European capitals, Oslo.
Only in a French airport would such a sign be needed
(it says you are limited to 100g of cheese in your hand luggage)Oslo was lovely; like Ottawa, but tidier and better organized. And less daylight: it's just a smidgeon below the 60th parallel. The people were very friendly, in an open and direct way (as opposed to the insincere "My name's Todd and it's my pleasure to serve you today" kind of way). The city is small enough that you can easily walk anywhere, but you don't need to because public transit is efficient and easy. Despite being the second last weekend before Christmas, the commercial streets were only busy, not thronged; and there were just as many people walking in the parks.
This picture, of Janet in front of the one-time royal palace of Slottet, was taken just a couple of minutes before noon.Janet found us a gorgeous little hotel, the
Gabelshus Hotel, in an old building of character. It has been redone in a sleek modern style in the functional areas like the dining room and the bedrooms themselves. It was rather nicer than you'd get on a business trip (on my business trips, anyway), but that's what holidays are for. But we were a little nonplussed by the glass walls around the bathroom. Aren't cultural differences interesting.
We spent our time exploring different neighbourhoods on foot, stopping in cafés and shops. Janet had seen one or two of the major museums already so we skipped the big ones, but we spent a couple of hours in the
Munch Museum. More varied work than the exhibition that came to the AGO a couple of years ago - but one can see that the poor guy was clearly even more troubled than Van Gogh.
Janet in a little Christmas street market we came acrossWe found that we could often puzzle out something written in Norwegian by pronouncing it aloud the way it's spelled. That makes it sounds like recognizable English words; of course, when the locals pronounce the same words they sound completely different. But mostly they spoke English anyway.
There She Goes Again
Janet is off to attend another conference, this one not too far away in
Maastricht. I had an errand in the neighbourhood, so I came with her to the Gare du Nord to see her off.
Buildings with birds in them amuse me (as long as they're not buildings I live in)
Tree Trimming Weekend
This weekend was our last chance to prepare for Christmas. Happily this blog means that the Christmas letter can be short, and we already have a card design, so that just leaves printing, writing notes and mailing, which is now well underway. We bought a little Christmas tree in Auteuil, the nearby neighbourhood where we shop. It's in a pot, so come January it can adopt its originally intended function, which is house plant.
We didn't have an angel - but we have an angel fish.
Peaceful Sunday Morning
I accept that living in an apartment in a big city places one uncomfortably close to one's neighbours. I'm sure we ourselves probably obliviously offend our neighbours from time to time without any idea we're doing so. You just have to be tolerant and remember that there's a price to pay for living in the big city. The parties are, after all, just kids doing their thing; the folks upstairs may have reasons for preferring to wear hard-soled shoes in the house; and we ought to be be grateful that the piano downstairs isn't an electric guitar or drums.
Still, would it seem really crabby were I to wonder what the hell the city was doing cleaning the streets at six o'clock on a Sunday morning? We were woken this morning by an air-raid-siren wail of machinery parked at the end of the block. It was a high-pitched motor noise going on and on with little dips in tone, like a wood-chipper. It makes you think just for a second that maybe someone has finally shut it down, but then it spins back up full bore. I looked out the window to see the thing in a big green truck with yellow caution lights. It was accompanied by men with rakes walking between the parked cars. Nice that Paris takes so much care with street-cleaning - but before the faintest glimmer of dawn on a Sunday? We popped in the earplugs again to get back to sleep.
Pub Night
The father of a good friend of mine used to insist that Queen's wasn't so much a university as a disease. Last night was our monthly attempt at spreading the plague in Paris. In truth, French antibodies are such that Queen's alumni pub night had to mutate to become Canadian university alumni pub night or there might have been a complete cure. As things stand, we think the infection is spreading.
Our branch president, AK, is on the right.The Queen's alumni
France branch has a web page, and guess who's the new webmaster. There's not much to it; I'll just be updating a calendar and adding pictures as we plan and execute events.
Flowers for the Fallen
I'm really not sure what to think about the shrine to the football fan who was shot a week and a half ago. As noted in a
post last week, the man was part of a crowd attacking a fan of the Tel Aviv team. An undercover police office came to the rescue, but almost came to grief himself. One person was killed and one injured by shots this rescuer fired.
A week after my previous photo, the pile of flowers has more than doubled. It includes notes, stuffed animals and loads of candles.
It could all be sadness over what it says about football and the unfortunate fact of fan violence, or even simply mourning for a friend. But the incident wasn't just team loyalty that got out of hand, the man died while attacking a Jew. Yesterday morning, a very rainy Sunday, there was a group of about eight young men who appeared to be maintaining a vigil. You can read too much into a stance or a haircut; but there was something about the young men, the way they were dressed, the way they stood gathered, and the way one of their number approached others who stopped to view the shrine. And their haircuts were awfully short. It was altogether discomfitting.
Santa's Villages
Christmas lights are up, and little sidewalk villages of seasonal vendors have appeared. These clusters of little wooden booths show up at this time of year along wider sidewalks and in squares. They feature an odd assortment of specialties, not all obviously seasonal: there are woolly scarves,
foie gras, fair-trade knick-knacks, baked treats, ceramics, and so on.
This transient shopping centre has appeared in the square in front of St. Sulpice, and features a gospel choir in one little hut.We went on a little shopping trip Saturday afternoon, that started at Bon Marché, where we scoured the food halls for samples. Pickings were slim however; I guess they don't need to lure people in the door at this time of year. We strolled towards the Boulevard St. Germain, stopping for a drink in a little bar on a side street. I need to work on my pronounciation of "Pernod" since I am unable to make myself understood by a French bartender while she is talking to her boyfriend on the telephone. A necessary skill. The challenges of the French language are deeper than you would first imagine.
We met for dinner our friend, TP, who is passing through Paris on business. We had a coupon for a small bottle of champagne at
L'Arbuci, a jazz-themed (although they didn't actually play any) bistro where the food was forgettable but the atmosphere and service lively.
Christmas Lights
It was movie night last night. My usual M.O. is to have an idea of what I want to see, then take a walk up and down the Champs Elysées to check the marquis of each cinema to see if I change my mind.
Tonight the street was all lit up with Christmas lights, and while the temperature has dropped, it was thronged as usual. With all the young people who seem to be there to see who else is there as much as to shop (in French, it's
flanner), it's kind of like an open air Eaton Centre with architecture.
I would have gone to see
The Departed, but I'd missed the early shows, and the later ones would have let out past midnight. Instead I selected
The Prestige (see
reviews), which was great. I'd enthuse further, but I might give something away (but see if you can spot David Bowie in the supporting cast, well hidden by his dialogue coach and hair stylist).
Only in a French airport would such a sign be needed
This picture, of Janet in front of the one-time royal palace of Slottet, was taken just a couple of minutes before noon.
Janet in a little Christmas street market we came across
