Monday, January 24, 2011

Danke Schoen, Darling


Earlier this month I left chère Paris for Berlin to visit Hélène, my step-sister. Coincidentally there is no good way to say step-sister in Parisian French; I was taught belle-sœur but that usually refers to a sister-in-law, soeur d'alliance is perhaps the most literal translation, but is awkward to say in conversation. I call her my demi-sœur even though it means half-sister because it's the least likely to require an explanation. Anyway, my something-sister was staying with her authentic German boyfriend, Johannes, and his roommate over the holidays and they were kind enough to welcome me into their very authentic German apartment for a few days.


Voilà the happy couple

The first thing we did after I got in on Friday night was ride the very clean and prompt German metro for a long time (Easyjet only flies to Berlin-Schoenfeld from Paris) then we sat around eating delicious potato soup made by the authentic German boyfriend and talking about the Cold War and Seinfeld. Hélène and I exchanged gifts - macarons from Dominique Saibron (who will get his own post in the near future) for her and chocolate dipped gingerbread for me. Before I tear apart Germanic cooking, I have to say that these people do an amazing job dipping things in chocolate. The green beer isn't bad either.

Hélène took me out for a Berliner Weisse, basically the product of a torrid affair between Heineken and gummy bears. I am a fan.
Day two brought us to Museumsinsel. The Germans, ever the masters of practicality, have concentrated five of the country's top museums on one little island near the center of town. We bought student day passes with a time slot for the Neues Museum, which are actually a pretty good deal.

We stopped by three of the five. The Pergamonmuseum, which houses Ancient Greek artifacts, was the most impressive. When the Germans pillaged, they didn't just make off with statues and vases, they took the whole temple! Really. Walking throught this museum, with ancient building façades towering over you (visibly held together by bungy cords, no less) and beautifully preserved mosaics on the ground will give you a new appreciation for the technical prowess of Socrates' buddies. The Alte Nationalgalerie (Old National Gallery) was a pretty standard art museum with a heavy emphasis on German and French painters from the 19th century. The Neues Museum, which is super popular, was like the best elementary school field trip ever. Its main draw is a bust of Nefertiti (again with the pillaging thing) but there are tons of sarcophagi (opened so you can see the mummy!) and ancient weapons and armor and jewelry and...yeah, Egypt's cool.

After a long day of museum walking me and my snail-like metabolism would have been happy with a glass of water and nap. Not so for my companions, who actually digest whole meals in one day, so we stopped for currywurst. Apparently, this is basically the Berlin version of crêpes. That is to say cheap, filling, and ubiquitous. Unfortunately, currywurst is actually a hotdog covered in special ketchup. Scrumptious.

That night we went out to a very chic Austrian restaurant which had great wine, great ambiance, and, by all accounts, great food. My appetizer was great, but I ordered Weiner Schnitzel for my main. Afterall, it's one of Maria's "Favorite Things" in The Sound of Music...Well, suffice it to say it is not one of mine. It is a piece of meat hammered thin and then deep-fried. I had an apple juice detox when we got back to the apartment.

The next day we hit up some major tourist sights including the Brandenburger Tor, Checkpoint Charlie and the Holocaust Memorial.

All were very impressive. I didn't quite know how to interpret the Holocaust Memorial, which struck me as very blank, empty even, but also kind of reminded me of cemeteries back in New Orleans. The graffiti'd pieces of the Berlin Wall on display were great, and the Brandenburg Gate is certainly a marvel. One thing I really got a kick out of was seeing the Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts in what was once East Berlin -- right in front of the Russian embassy.

The best part of the day was when Johannes took us to Another Country, an English language bookstore run by a Scottish transvestite. The setup is shelves of books in what seems to be someone's (the transvestite's?) home. There are drinks in the fridge, and you have to navigate around furniture in the dining room, living room, and study to get to some of the books. The place was chalereux, as we say back here in the land of impractical shoes and more varied diets.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Pôtiche

So, when I'm not busy getting hit on, I'm busy getting rejected. After a particularly mal élevé Frenchman did not call me back one Saturday in December, Host Mom (who gets more awesome everyday, really) invited me to the movies. We decided to go see Catherine Deneuve and Gérard Depardieu's latest film, Pôtiche. In French, pôtiche means vase, but can also designate someone who is merely decorative, like a puppet politician or, as in the film, a trophy wife.


Deneuve plays one such wife, who has to take over the family umbrella company when her cheating, egocentric husband (Fabrice Luchini who was also in Paris, an amazing film) falls ill during a workers' strike. Gerard Dépardieu plays the Communist organizer she must turn to for help. All this is set against a background of technicolor 1970's sets and wardrobe, with a "free to be you and me" message and a musical finale. Indochine, it ain't.

Deneuve, while she is no longer the heart-stopping beauty she once was, has aged gracefully. Dépardieu, on the other hand, is absolutely, stunningly fat. (Not pertinent? Perhaps. Did I spend most of the movie trying to figure out how he managed to get in and out of those little french cars? You betcha.) There were some chuckles from the (all middle-aged) crowd during the show, so clearly I missed a few jokes, but this film was clearly a vehicle for two aging, beloved French stars.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Monday in the Métro

Many men in France (and in other parts of Europe) love to draguer, to flirt, to try to pick up women. Anyone who looks culturally appropriate in a skirt in France encounters this. It's strange to me that in a city where saying "bonjour" to a stranger is unheard of, it's normal to try to seduce one on sight. At best it's funny and flattering, at worst it's menacing. Usually it's just annoying. In general I tell the unwanted male I'm Russian (nobody speaks Russian), but Monday night, being cold and running late around 7 p.m., I was not prepared as I entered the métro at Alésia. Actually, that was just as well, since not even my trusty alibi couldn't have gotten me out of this one gracefully. This is definitely the most extended incident I've had, and since an account of my time here wouldn't be complete without at least a mention of awkward sexual advances, here's how it went down:

I was standing on the voie, waiting for the train. Two youngish guys walk by behind me, laughing, and sit down on my right. Just when I am starting to wonder if they are laughing at me, a voice:

Random man: *indistinguishable French in my left ear*
Me: Blagh! *deer in the headlights face*
Random man: (in French) Oh, I surprised you...[something something]...getting pushed in front of the train.
Me: *starting to get terrified, polite nodding*
RM: Ah, you don't speak French.
Me: Not really
RM: Spanish?
Me: No.
RM: Italian?
Me: No.
RM: English, then? I don't really speak English...
Me: Yes. *ain't-that-a-shame-now-leave face*
RM: So you're English? American?
Me: American.
RM: So you're here on holiday?
Me: No I'm a student. (Doh!)
RM: Ah-ha! So you speak French then!
Me: Sometimes. (Where is the train?!?)
RM:What do you study? Law? Business?
Me: History (The train!)
RM: Where are you going?
Me: The, uh, library.
RM: Come dancing with my friends and I?
Me: No thanks.
RM: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
RM: Really?
Me: Yes, it's impossible.
RM: *boarding the train* Ok, I'll leave you alone then. Happy New Year. Have a nice evening.
Me: Same to you.

-2 seconds later-

RM: *sitting down next to me* Actually, my friends are trying to figure out where we're going, I'll come sit with you!
Me: So you're not from Paris then.
RM: Me, yes, I've lived here for four years. They're trying to figure out how to get to the club.
Me: I see.
RM: So which library are you going to? Odéon?
Me: (not understanding) Cool.
RM. La Sorbonne? Montparnasse?
Me: Yes, er, no. (Oh look my stop!)
RM: *Also getting off the train* Oh! I think you like me!
Me: (Fantastic) *power-walking to next train*
RM and friends: *giggles* (Guess who's also taking Line 6 towards Nation.)

*As I approach the voie, the train pulls away. Next train, 7 minutes.* (Hooo, boy!)
Me: *Trying to blend into the crowd on the voie. Pointedly avoiding eye contact.*
RM: *Pointedly trying to make eye contact. *
Me: *Surpressing nervous laughter*
RM: It's destiny.
Me: Nope.
RM: Do you like Frenchmen?
Me: uhhh...
RM: American men, they aren't very tender, are they?
Me: I guess?
RM: So you've come to France to experience tenderness, affection, to fall in love with a Frenchman.
Me: Nope.
RM: No? You don't like men...you only like women now.
Me: Haha...I only like books.
RM: Ah, yes you're going to the library, that's very good.
Me: Yup.
RM: But you can't curl up against a book at night...
Me: (Says you) Oh well.
RM: What part of your studies are you in? What do you want to do afterward?
Me: I don't know.
RM: Ah well, that's very good, and I wish you luck and a happy New Year and a nice evening.
Me: Yes, to you as well, bye bye

-2 seconds later-
RM: Please, if I could just know your first name.
Me: No.
RM: Mine's Nicolai, I'm Russian.
Me: Cool, you speak very good French.
RM: I studied a lot. You won't tell me your name?
Me: No.
RM: Maybe in 10 years, after you finish your studies...
Me: I don't think so.
RM: Very well. I wish you a...Actually, I don't wish you anything. You have your studies, you're on a good path. Have a nice night.
Me: Ok. Byebye.


RM: You really won't tell me?
Me: No.